


No Robots Were Harmed In The Making Of This Story

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Banter, F/M, Multi, Other, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hardison built a robot to fight, but he gave it artificial intelligence to <em>win.</em> He didn’t expect it to come to life and for it to become such a big part of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Robots Were Harmed In The Making Of This Story

**Author's Note:**

> Written for polybigbang 2011. Thanks to my last minute beta, clex_monkie89, and shining light of helpfulness and geekery, brynspikess, who provided some helpful info about the Young Hercules wiki she's writing, in addition to being all around fantastic. Major thanks to deadflowers5 for the awesome collaboration. [Check out the art post here.](http://deadflowers5.livejournal.com/113531.html)<3
> 
> And uh, just for the record, I've been writing this since way before The Girl's Night Out Job aired. Just in case that question comes up

It started with a late night, a two litre bottle of orange soda, and a garage full of scrap metal.

Alec Hardison built a prototype of what he called 'Mister Leverage'; a fighting robot with a lever for flipping and a large spike on a downward swinging arm for stabbing. He hid the robot under the work bench and draped a tarp over the whole thing in case his girlfriend came into the garage and wanted to know what was going on. He would find a more secure place to keep it in the next few days.

"You didn't come to bed last night," Parker said carefully at breakfast the next morning.

"Sorry," he said, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. He set a carton of orange juice in front of her by way of an apology offering.

"I'm a Doctor Who widow," she told him, fake hurt eyes flashing. "I'm going to the gym after work, so it's your turn to make dinner." Parker didn't mention his mysterious absence again, so he thought he was out of the woods.

Hardison worked full time at a small computer security firm. When he wasn't working hard, he was being a geek with his colleagues.

A few weeks ago, Gary had brought in his plans for what he called his 'ultimate death fighting robot' and explained in hushed, awed tones about the amazing new sport he had discovered online. While Hardison didn't agree with Gary's definition of 'a sport', he did agree with ultimate death fighting robots as a concept.

"There's only two rules of Robo-Rumble-Fight-Night," Gary told the group.

"Don't talk about it?" Hardison asked.

"Shut up, no. Rule one: all the violence stays in the heptagon. Rule two: your wife can never know."

Hardison wasn't sure if he was more baffled by the fact that there was a heptagon or that there was an outdated, sort of offensive 'boys only' rule, but he still wasn't arguing with ultimate death fighting robots as a concept.

"How do I enter?"

In the end, it was a fifty dollar registration fee and the promise to buy a round of beers if he lost the first match.

Hardison worried briefly about keeping it from Parker, but he rationalized that it wasn't a real secret. It wasn't an office romance or an illegitimate love child; it was just stupid boy stuff.

He made spaghetti with canned sauce for dinner while Parker was at the gym and did it without burning anything. When Parker got home, she was a whirlwind of smiles and cheer and that post workout smell of adrenaline that drove Hardison a little wild. He forgot all about robots.

"Oh, and did I tell you the best part?" she asked, waving her fork at him as if overcooked noodles _were_ the best part.

They'd been chatting since she got home and she'd said a lot of things, but Hardison wasn't sure if she'd actually mentioned which part was best. "No?" Hardison said, sounding about as sure as he felt.

"They asked me to lead the next trip!"

Hardison had to admit he hadn't been fully listening to what exactly she was talking about. When she was so happy and animated, he had a tendency to zone out and just let her enthusiasm wash over him. "Wait, which trip?"

Parker had obviously gotten used to that bad habit of his, because she didn't even look annoyed. "The Rocky River canoe trip. The sixteen day one, remember?"

"Jesus, Parker, the one that dude broke both his elbows and all his ribs on last time?"

Parker nodded excitedly. "Most of his ribs, yeah."

"Oh, Parker, I don't --"

She jabbed her fork in his direction again. "Don't. Don't tell me you don't know or you're not sure. It'll be my first expedition over a week and I am so excited. I'm an extreme eco-tour guide, Alec, danger is part of my job."

He rolled his eyes. "Lion taming would be safer."

"But I wouldn't like it half as much."

Hardison forgave her for the pre-emptive worry he was already working on because she immediately launched into her plans for kit lists and itineraries and she was so happy that he wasn't going to ruin that with a fight.

After they had kissed goodnight and snuggled under the comforter later that night, Hardison thought only briefly of the killer robot in his garage before drifting off to sleep.

\--

Parker left on Tuesday morning with her hiking bag and a giant smile. "We leave tomorrow, so I'll be home sixteen days after that, which is two Thursdays after this Thursday. Don't starve to death while I'm gone." She kissed him twice and left before he could try protesting again.

She had left a list of emergency numbers and a map of her route on the fridge. Just in case Hardison didn't have enough to stress out about just knowing she was out in the wilderness with a hatchet and a canoe and a bunch of hunky guys with muscles 'til next year...

He wasn't sure how to read a topographical map, but it looked like a giant ass canyon full of rapids and sharp, jaggedy rocks and alligators and radioactive pirate ships and whatever else was lurking in the great outdoors, ready to kill. Hardison was unsure about a lot of that kind of stuff too.

Hardison went to work and tried not to sulk. Parker had been away on trips before, even some of the longer, six or seven day ones, but none of them had been this long and none of them had been as potentially dangerous.

"Get it together, man," Gary said when he passed Hardison's desk. Hardison was leaning back in his chair and tossing a tennis ball up in the air over and over.

"Shut up, code's compiling," Hardison said with a huff. "And you know I can't focus when Parker's away."

"Would it make you feel better if I said we planned a fight for tonight and you're up?"

"Up?" Hardison dropped the ball on his desk and stared. "Like, up-up?"

"Like you vs. me, tonight, nine-thirty at Hanson's bar. We're in the basement, so go around the back and down through the cellar."

Hardison grinned in spite of all his worry. It felt like a real thing now that it had a date on it. And sneaking in through the back? Totally movie-esque. "Seriously? Oh man, you're so going down."

He'd seen Gary's plans and he wasn't worried. He was confident that Mister Leverage could handle whatever Gary's bot was going to throw at them.

\--

Hardison was right. It was over almost before it started. Gary's robot, MurderKill, zoomed right up to Mister Leverage with his saw blade out, and Hardison was able to use the flipping arm for the first time in real combat. It was glorious. MurderKill sailed through the air and landed with a brutal crunch of corrugated metal on cement.

MurderKill was formidable-looking and heavily armoured, but it was built like a hippo -- all thick skin and impenetrable top, but naked underneath. It was completely unprepared for a bottom-to-top assault, which is exactly what Mister Leverage dealt out. One swift punch from the heavy spike at the end of Mister Leverage's overhead arm put MurderKill out for good.

"Holy shit, that was vicious," Gary said, when the dust had settled. He ran his hand through his hair a couple times and looked at the one little metal cog, still rolling slowly across the cement floor. "I guess beers are on me, then."

Hardison grinned. "And I'll gladly accept."

They talked robotics at the bar, discussing conductivity and metachronal motion versus easy, but effective, wheeled motion.

"Your design," Gary sighed again, clearly not taking his crushing loss as well as Hardison thought he was. "Your design is simple and like... basic."

"Simple? Try elegant. And it's not 'simple', it's just that yours had so many bells and whistles. When you rebuild, try something a little more... elegant."

"MurderKill only had one whistle," Gary said sadly, looking into his beer. "The MurderWhistle."

Another beer in and Gary was a lot less melancholy, which was good because he was starting to bring everyone down. Hardison went to bed that night missing Parker a little, but mostly buzzing on free beer and victory.

\--

By day three of Parker being gone, Hardison was starting to get really bored with talking to himself.

He spent his days at work and his evenings watching Ultimate Death Fighting Robot clips on Youtube between episodes of Deep Space Nine. Brushing up on his future competitors would be helpful, he figured.

While he was watching Killerella vs. Death By Pain, Hardison got an email from Gary about another match the next night.

"Giggles?" Hardison read aloud, glancing around like there was someone else in the room to explain it to him. "For real?" 

When he searched for it on the local chapter of the Ultimate Death Fighting Robot site, he found that Giggles was a robot with a big rotating circular saw on the front, painted to look like a clown.

"Oh, hell nah," Hardison groaned. He hated clowns. "We're going to take that clown out."

He did take the clown out the very next night in the basement at Hanson's bar, then everyone went up to have a drink to toast Hardison's rousing victory against the creepy clown robot. The clown robot's controller slunk out of the bar with the three or four salvageable pieces of his 'bot.

"He's going to be out for at least three weeks rebuilding," Gary said happily over the noise of the bar. "We hated that clown."

"Everyone hates clowns," Hardison said sagely over his rum and Coke.

Back home, he planned to spend the weekend with a stack of back issues of Robotics Monthly and takeout pizza. He wasn't sure what exactly was drawing him to Ultimate Robot Death Fighting, but he was determined to do it right. It was probably just a mix of boredom and loneliness, he figured, and once Parker was home safe, he wouldn't need underground robot brawling.

As he flipped through musty pages, more and more ideas starting coming at him. Most of them were ridiculous and over the top and included lasers, but Hardison thought a couple of them were actually something he could implement.

It was going to be a busy weekend.

\--

Now, he wasn't going to say that talking to his robot while he added the new guidance protocol was the most 'normal' thing he had ever done, but Mister Leverage was a great listener and sometimes Hardison just liked to talk while he was working. If he focused too intently on something, he had a tendency to go a little loopy. He got way too into the project and Parker said it was creepy.

So while he tinkered with the suspension and wrote the code for the guidance upgrade, he told Mister Leverage about his latest challenge with the wiki he was single-handedly writing in his spare time.

"And I mean, I know Fox has ruined a lot of lives with their willy-nilly cancellations, but booting Young Hercules for Woody the Woodpecker? It was a dagger to my heart, you know? So like I was saying, right now I'm trying to sort out of all Cheiron's advice on an 'advice' page, but I want to link all the individual pieces to the specific episode page, then link all the episode pages back to the advice page, so you can clearly see why I'm behind."

Hardison hit the sync button and waited while the protocols updated, wondering when his life got weird.

\--

Mister Leverage's third fight was against a huge, lumbering 'bot called Floyd McHammer. Mister Leverage managed to take him out late in the second round, but not before suffering a couple really hard hits.

Of course there was much congratulatory back-slapping and beer-swilling, and before Hardison had a chance to protest, the next fight night was decided on for two nights later. Hardison was scheduled to go up against his toughest competitor yet.

Two days -- work days, no less -- would not be enough time to get any of the improvements done like he wanted to before his next fight, never mind the seven or eight major dents he had to hammer out before he could start upgrading.

Hardison managed to get most of what he wanted done by pulling an all-nighter. Mister Leverage looked great with a new coat of blue paint and Hardison was confident he would walk out of the next fight victorious once again.

Manglin' Molly was by far the toughest competitor Hardison had seen yet and early into the second round, he almost threw in the towel. Mister Leverage was taking a rough beating and a very-nearly-killer saw blade to the chassis almost ended it entirely, but Hardison rallied and Mister Leverage found an opening. In the end, they managed to pull off a win, even though Mister Leverage completely shut down seconds before the last buzzer.

"Oh shit," Hardison muttered, jogging out into the heptagon to haul his ruined 'bot into better light so he could take a full survey of the damage. Manglin' Molly had really done a number. Hardison was actually really worried that he might not be able to fix Mister Leverage this time.

"Hey Hardison!" Hardison looked up to see Gary coming towards him with the guy that controlled Manglin' Molly and a couple others.

"Hey guys, nice fight," he said, offering the guy a handshake even though he would rather deck him. Since Parker left and Mister Leverage was the only 'person' Hardison had to talk to, he found himself getting more and more attached to his ultimate death fighting robot.

"Just wanted to let you know, man, that since you won, you're into the next fight. If you can get that hunk of junk up and running, you're up against Scorpion Bite for the qualifier. I'm so excited to watch him tear you guys apart."

Hardison gave Gary a painful smirk. "And here I was, thinking you were proud of me."

"Sure, man, proud, and excited to see your 'bot get turned into a pile of rust and little metal filings."

"Great, thanks," Hardison said. He was trying to figure out just how or when he had started thinking of Mister Leverage as an actual creature instead of just a thing. He didn't want to watch it get turned into filings. That would make him feel a little bit evil. So, the only solution he could see was to win.

Winning, Hardison quickly found out once he was home, was a lot easier said than done. The damage to Mister Leverage was extensive. There was not much left to repair; he was basically starting from scratch. He salvaged the main controls and the flipping arm, but what was left of the chassis couldn't even be considered scrap metal anymore. The drive mechanism was sheared right in half and the tie rod was inexplicably missing.

It took four nights to get something resembling an ultimate death fighting robot back up and running. Hardison spent less time on the outside the second time around and focused instead on improvements that would give the 'bot more power.

Hardison went to bed on the fourth night feeling good, feeling confident that the new Mister Leverage was a vast improvement over the first. He still had one more day to finalize everything before the fight and work out whatever remaining bugs existed, if any, and then the fight would go off without a hitch and Scorpion Bite was going down.

"So, you getting nervous yet?" Gary asked the next day at work.

Hardison scoffed. "Nervous about what? You know I'm the best, and I've got the best equipment."

"I've seen Scorpion Bite fight, that's all. It's going to be pretty spectacular tomorrow. I'm expecting fireworks."

It was just Gary messing with him, trying to get him keyed up about the fight, Hardison figured. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check out the competition online when he got home. A couple minutes of research to get a leg up was a pretty good idea.

Scorpion Bite was disgusting. Hardison was well and truly impressed. For about nine seconds. Then he was terrified.

"We are not prepared for this," Hardison told Mister Leverage.

Scorpion Bite was named, presumably, after the scorpion it looked like. It had a pair of grasping claws on its front which looked dangerous enough on their own, with heavy duty barbed wire wrapped around them, but it also had... well, it was a tail, that's all it could really be called.

Hardison had been sorely mistaken in his assumption that Mister Leverage was the first of the ultimate death fighting robots that had a downward swinging puncturing arm. Scorpion Bite had one that looked mean, deadly, and frankly, like the creator was trying to compensate for something.

There wasn't enough time to start over with Mister Leverage, to redesign it as something that would be a little more effective against the next opponent. Hardison considered the options.

A) Go as they were, try their very best, and get absolutely beaten

B) Forfeit

C) Cheat

"Okay, so how do I cheat?" he asked the workshop aloud. There was no answer. Hardison sighed and decided to head back inside. Dinner would maybe clear his head and let him think better. Just as he reached the door and moved to turn the overhead lights off, something caught his attention. It was the wall calendar Parker had bought him last Christmas, hanging above the cluttered work table containing his broken computer graveyard. The calendar proclaimed June, even though it was October.

"Damn girl, what would I do without you?" He remembered being a little bemused when he opened the gift originally, wondering why on earth she'd picked a Disney calendar for him, but seeing the cheerful picture of Wall-E holding out a flower and wishing him a happy June, Hardison figured his girlfriend must be able to predict the future.

"Okay, Mister Leverage, hope you're ready for a long night."

Artificial intelligence wasn't an area Hardison had a vast base of knowledge about, but luckily, the wi-fi from the house reached the workshop and the internet knew everything.

By dawn, Hardison was yawning every ten or twelve seconds, but the final piece was in place. He'd had to add a second mother board to run the program to recognize the AI chip, but it was finally working. He loaded all the footage he could find of Scorpion Bite's previous fights and set Mister Leverage to analyze them while he was at work.

Hardison felt vaguely creeped out by the thought that he technically just created a sentient creature that was specifically designed to kill, but it wasn't like it was _that_ sentient. His sleep-deprived mind was probably just blowing it out of proportion.

The workshop was still standing when he got home from work. Hardison snuck in a nap before a late dinner and went out to the workshop just after dusk to check on his robot. His hand was on the doorknob when there was a huge, crashing noise of metal on stone on metal, and he froze with his heart pounding in his throat.

A raccoon had tipped over one of the trash bins.

Okay, so it was less scary than the robot apocalypse. Hardison shook it off and went inside where everything was quiet and calm and just as he had left it hours before. Mister Leverage wasn't dripping in innocent blood or anything else. The robot had apparently finished the task Hardison had left for it and had gone into power save mode.

Hardison switched it off and took a step back, eyeing his handiwork. This incarnation of Mister Leverage looked pretty much the same as the first one, if a little heavier looking and a bit less polished. Hardison liked it, actually; it looked rugged. The only flaw he was seeing was the second motherboard he'd installed. The end of it stuck out funny, leaving a square that was uneven on the front side of the robot.

He was less worried that it looked weird and more worried that it looked weird enough that someone would ask what it was for. Hardison grabbed a piece of heavy silver vinyl from the scrap box and pasted it over the uneven piece. With a black Sharpie, he wrote 'Mister Leverage' in blocky capitals and paused with the marker lid to his lips. Underneath, he wrote L.E., for limited edition. Ultimate death fighting robots with AI certainly counted as limited edition.

\--

Hardison opened his eyes the next morning to a rosy dawn and nearby birdsong. Normally, he'd be irritable first thing in the morning with stupid birds singing, but for some reason, he felt cheerful about it. Something was telling him it was going to be a good day.

Hardison got up and stretched, both loving and hating the sound his spine made when it cracked.

"I hate when you do that."

He spun around with a startled yelp, slipping a little on the area rug. Hardison couldn't catch himself in time and he landed hard on one knee on the hardwood floor and both elbows on the bed. "Oof."

"I hate when you do that, too, you spaz," Parker said, rolling over onto her stomach and kissing the back of his hand.

"When did you get home?" he asked. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow."

"Got back early," she said with a grin. "Sometimes that happens. Sometimes the universe just wants me to spend a bit more time with my boyfriend."

Hardison pulled himself back onto the bed, ignoring the dull throb in his injured knee, and kissed her cheeks and the back of her neck until she was breathless with laughter and he was breathless with the magic of her. "I missed you," he said earnestly, collapsing next to her.

Parker rolled onto her side and watched him closely. "Yeah? I missed you too. It was all rain once we hit the canyon on the fourth day. It rained for like... forever. I really thought we were going to get washed right out of our site. It made me think of Fourth of July camping the year before last, remember that?"

He grimaced. "Yeah." Fourth of July camping had not been his idea or his choice, but she suckered him into going with her pretty smile and promises of plenty of sex. It rained the entire time they were gone and while he did get the promised sex, he also got all the bug bites. Don't ask him where.

"So, you kept busy without me?" Parker asked, idly rubbing her fingers along the bare stretch of skin between his t-shirt and boxers. 

"Work, mostly," Hardison said, focusing on the curve of her smile instead of the feel of her skin against his. "Uhh, speaking of, I should get going."

"The universe sent me home early to see you, though," Parker said with an overly dramatic pout. "And I've been thinking about you since I left, and I just thought that maybe we could --"

"I'll take today off," Hardison said quickly, remembering the big project he was scheduled to start and promptly dismissing it.

Parker smiled knowingly and reached for his shirt again. "Then I guess I can take this off."

\--

The next time Hardison bothered to check a clock, it was well into the afternoon. He thought briefly of the robot sitting in the workshop and of the fight there were supposed to be present at in a few hours. The rules were abundantly clear regarding the presence of lady-folk at the fights, but Hardison didn't think he could tear himself away from Parker at the moment.

"I have to make a call," he groaned, extricating himself from the tangle of sheets and heading for the door. "I'll be right back."

"Bring juice," she called after him.

In the kitchen, he dialled Gary's work number. Hardison didn't want to forfeit or whatever, especially considering all the work he'd put in. Maybe there was a way they could reschedule or something, or bend the 'no chicks' rule because Parker was awesome. "Hey Gary, it's me... Yeah, really sick, whatever. Look man, I'm not going to be able to make it tonight... No, Parker got home and I'd rather... Seriously? How come you never mentioned that? ... Okay. Yeah, yeah, I'll see you at nine."

Hardison got the juice out of the fridge and went back into the bedroom. "Parker, I don't want you to be mad at me."

She sat up and stared at him. "Really? That's how you start off? What happened?"

He wasn't exactly sure how to explain that he had built a fighting robot, then given that robot an artificial intelligence, and had to spend their first night together after more than two weeks apart out with the boys and their robots, so he started with the good news. "I'm going to buy you that ring I promised you."

"... Seriously? Did you win the lottery while I was gone? We don't have the money for that." Hardison could tell she was trying to be realistic, but there was hope in her eyes. He had every intention to get her the big shiny ring they both thought she deserved, but his savings account was woefully underprepared for it.

"Not yet, but there's this thing tonight... A fight. And if I win that, I'll have the money to get you the ring. And more." Hardison felt pretty pleased himself until he saw the look on her face. "What?"

"A fight? Oh, Alec, no. I love you, but you're not a fighter. Don't get yourself killed just for some money." She looked so genuinely upset that Hardison was touched. Mildly insulted, also, but touched.

"Hey, no, not like that. It's kind of uhhh. Well, I promised the guys I wouldn't tell you, but just act like you don't know anything and it'll be okay. See, it's this like... robot fight, you know?"

A look of horror crossed Parker's face. "They're going to make you fight a robot?"

"No, it's. Okay, come with me." Hardison tossed her a pair of his pajama pants that had somehow ended up on the floor over the last week.

He led her out to the workshop and pulled the tarp off of Mister Leverage carefully.

"Holy crap. You made this while I was gone?"

"Mostly. I had to totally rebuild it this week 'cause we took a thrashing and it was so broken. But the quarter-finals are tonight and we're up against a really tough one." He explained quickly about the first few fights and their fight against Scorpion Bite later that evening.

Parker really only had one concern. "Shouldn't it be called, like... Scorpion Stinger or something?"

"I know, what a dumb name, right? But anyways, that's tonight and if we win --"

"Money?"

Hardison paused for a second too long before nodding. "Yeah, exactly. No, not exactly," he corrected himself when she gave him a look. "If we win quarter-finals, we make it to semis, and then if we win that..."

"Right, you have to win all of it." She glanced between Hardison and the fighting robot, sitting dormant on the workshop floor. "And I can't go with you?"

"You would... want to go with me?"

She laughed. "Ultimate death fighting robots? Hell yeah, I want to see that! Especially if you made one."

Hardison marvelled for a second about how perfect she was, then kissed her so she knew it too. "If you lurk in the back and make sure Gary doesn't see you, I bet I could sneak you in."

That was how Parker ended up in sunglasses, an overcoat, and a Seattle Mariners hat. Hardison couldn't see her from where he was standing before the match started, but he felt pretty good knowing she was out there watching.

The fight was unlike any that Hardison had seen either online or live action. Mister Leverage seemed to be everywhere at once, except when Scorpion Bite tried to land a hit because then Mister Leverage was at the other side of the heptagon.

The AI had obviously worked because not only was Mister Leverage four steps ahead of Scorpion Bite, it was four steps ahead of Hardison too. Hardison had turned the remote control on and that was pretty much the last time he had to touch the thing. The fight was mostly a game, that much was clear. Mister Leverage was just toying with Scorpion Bite, like a cat and a baby mouse. There was no competition, just Mister Leverage letting the fight go on long enough for it to be worth watching. Then Scorpion Bite was out like a light.

Hardison got out of the celebratory party by reminding Gary that Parker was back and alluding to something vaguely dirty. Gary gave him an overly hearty wink and promised to buy him beer next time they were out. "Great, thanks, see you at work, man."

"That was over kind of quick, wasn't it?" Parker said when they rendezvoused back at the SUV.

"You thought so?" Hardison asked. "I thought it was pretty long, compared to some of the other fights."

Parker made a strangled sound and elbowed his arm. "Oh, the jokes I could make about what you apparently think is 'a long time'," she laughed.

"Not cool," he said seriously, even if he knew she was kidding. Some things just weren't okay to joke about.

"Oh wow, it's really warm, hmm?" Parker said when she helped Hardison lift the robot off the pavement.

"Yeah, well, it was a long fight," Hardison shrugged. "I guess the hardware just had to work a little harder to keep up." It wasn't exact unusual for the metal to retain some energy in the form of heat after working hard for a while, but Hardison made a mental note to research some internal cooling methods before the next match.

Hardison felt on top of the world. His girlfriend was home, his 'bot had won, and the three of them were only two fights away from ten thousand dollars. If that wasn't enough to make him giddy, he didn't know what else would be.

There was a momentary pang of guilt when he realized that he technically had cheated his way through this fight and closer to the prize money. The AI would have to come out if he wanted the other fights to be fair and it wasn't like he'd put the program in there specifically because of the money. He'd planned to cheat before he even knew he was getting anything out of it.

And while Hardison tried to think of a way to rationalize _that_ thought, Parker took the keys from his jacket and declared she would drive home. "Maybe we can grab something to eat and catch a late movie," she suggested once they were on the road and Hardison had stopped fiddling with the satellite radio. "It's been a while since we had an actual date."

Hardison nodded. It sounded like the perfect end to a pretty great day. "Sure. I say we see something with outer space."

"That's always your vote."

"And it's always rocks, doesn't it?"

They bickered about movies choices for a little while longer, until Parker asked, much too nonchalantly, "so, when's the next fight for you to win?"

Hardison smirked. "You mean, when's the fight when I win all the money?"

"Yes, you win the money even though I do all the work."

There were three solid seconds where everything was normal and quiet before they could both process what they'd heard. Parker slammed on the brakes and Hardison yelped like he'd been stung.

"What the fuck?"

"Oh my god!"

They both leapt from the SUV and Hardison ran around to Parker's side, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her five or six steps away. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, still looking wild-eyed at the vehicle. "What the hell was that?"

"Someone in the truck?" Hardison said shakily. "I didn't say it."

"Neither did I."

They watched for a few seconds, expecting something to happen. When nothing did, Parker took a few cautious steps towards the still-running Durango. Hardison clutched her hand and tried to hold her back, in case a murderous madman with sharp meat hooks for hands was lurking in the back seat.

"I'm going to call 9-1-1," he said in his quiet panic voice.

She shushed him with a wave of her hand and approached the back door on the driver's side. Images of battle axes, stun guns, and extra-sharp scalpels flooded Hardison's mind unbidden and definitely unwanted. "Oh my god," he hissed, trying to make peace with his imminent death.

Parker flung open the door, but the backseat was empty of everything except a crumpled sweatshirt and a few empty reusable grocery bags.

"Those robots put out a lot of exhaust, right?" Parker asked, turning back to Hardison.

He stared blankly at her, unsure what that had to do with anything.

"Maybe we're both just really high on exhaust fumes."

Never before had Hardison thought being intoxicated by potentially poisonous gasses without his consent or knowledge to be the less horrifying option for anything, and yet here he was.

"I should call the police," he said again, but his fear was beginning to subside. Parker even walked around to the back of the SUV and popped the hatch, but there was no psycho murderer hiding behind his robot.

"Fine," Hardison said, finally relenting. "But if --"

"Don't. You always come up with the creepiest 'ifs' and I can usually ignore you, but tonight I'm already creeped out." Parker got back into the vehicle and waved at Hardison to do the same. "Let's go if we want to make that movie."

Hardison was buckling up his seat belt when the same voice that was not his or Parker's said "I want to experience a movie."

"Okay, seriously?" Parker said, looking over the seat into the back while Hardison panicked again.

"Yes. I want to experience a movie with great seriousness."

Parker's eyes narrowed. She was getting mad. Hardison would have thought it was funny if he wasn't so sure he was about to be lunch meat. "Who's there?" Parker said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Maybe she was planning on leaping into the back to fight the intruder, Hardison wasn't sure.

"I am not entirely sure."

"Oh god," Hardison said, not for the first time. "It's the robot." He got out of the SUV again and ran to the back to open the trunk. "Something must be malfunctioning with the AI program," he told Parker once he was back there.

She was still turned around in her seat, chin now resting on her arm while she watched Hardison poking at the robot. "AI?"

"Yeah, the artificial intelligence," he said without looking up. He flipped open the mini-toolbox they kept in the back for emergencies hoping to find something to help him open up Mister Leverage and look inside.

"Isn't AI against the rules of the North Eastern Ultimate Robot Death Fighting League?" When Hardison finally looked up to give her an astounded look, Parker just shrugged. "Some guy gave me a pamphlet."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess it is. But I installed the program before I knew there was money involved, so it's not like cheating to win."

"What, it was cheating for the sake of cheating?"

"... Yes. Hang on, got it," he said, finally popping the front plate off the robot.

"What are you looking for?" Parker asked.

"No idea. I'll know if I see it." Hardison squinted at the inner workings of the fighting robot without seeing anything that would be causing a hardware issue.

"Be careful with that screwdriver."

"Quiet," Hardison said, pointing the screwdriver threateningly. He had designed the thing to kill and he really didn't want it suddenly remembering that.

"Must be a software problem. I'll have to fix it at home," he said, after a few more moments of staring into the wires and not having an epiphany. He slammed the trunk back down and got back in the passenger side.

"Is it... Going to talk all the way home?" Parker whispered, like she was afraid the robot would get mad if it heard her.

"I hope not," Hardison whispered back. "It's creeping me out."

"We're having the longest talk about you weird hobbies when we get home," Parker warned him. Hardison shrunk a little in his seat. Luckily, the robot stayed quiet for the rest of the drive.

Seeing the robot sitting on the plush green carpet in the living room instead of the dusty workshop floor or the center of a debris-strewn heptagon was pretty strange. Parker sat with her feet up on the couch, watching it closely, while Hardison went to get his laptop.

Parker was still watching suspiciously while Hardison ran cables to and from the robot, linking it to the laptop. He watched the lines of code flit across the screen, looking desperately for a hint as to what had been going on, but nothing sprung out at him. Finally, he set the computer on the carpet and leaned back.

"So, what's going on?" Parker asked carefully.

"I have no idea. Everything looks exactly the same as it did when I programmed it."

"And you programmed it to talk?"

"No," came the tinny voice from the robot. "I learned that on my own."

Hardison levered himself very quickly off the floor and onto the couch next to Parker. "That's not how the program was supposed to work at all. It _shouldn't_ work like that."

"And yet," the robot said. "Here we are. Did you write and install the artificial intelligence during a lightning storm?"

Hardison stared, unable to piece together what was going on. There was no reason that he could think of that the program he wrote would be doing this, but then again, if he could have thought of it, then it wouldn't be happening.

"How is it even talking? Alec, how can it talk if it doesn't have a mouth?" Parker's hand found his and clung tightly. The robot hadn't moved at all since they brought it in, but somehow that was more sinister than if it had been zipping around, cackling maniacally and ruining their house with its spike arm.

"It's got a sound card. I installed one of my old net books to run the AI program, so it's got the sound card and speakers and microphone and stuff from there. It's not talking, exactly, just... spitting out sound."

"I could say that about most of the things you say," said the robot. "And I'm not sure you should keep referring to me as 'it'."

"Oh my god," Hardison muttered, rubbing his free hand over his face before pinching himself in the arm -- hard. "It's self-aware."

"Are you going to kill us?" Parker asked the robot, leaning forward on the couch to get a better look.

Hardison wouldn't have been so point blank about it, but that no holds barred attitude was one of the things that drew him to Parker in the first place so it's not like he could hold it against her now. He just sighed quietly to himself.

"No."

Hardison would have appreciated a little more elaboration, like maybe a 'I would never harm a human!' or something, but any negative response was a good one in his mind.

"Hardison, is this you fucking with me?" Parker asked, turning her point blank questions on him.

He shook his head emphatically. "I nearly peed when it started talking."

She studied him closely for a moment before accepting that answer. "Fine. So, robot, if you don't want us to call you 'it', what should we call you?"

"I would find it interesting to take on a human name. I am interested in the whole human experience."

"I might still pee," Hardison muttered. "No," he said a little louder. "Forget it. I'm deactivating the AI program and we're never speaking about this again." He was talking to Parker because he was refusing to acknowledge that the robot he had built out of spare parts and too much sugar was trying to engage him in conversation.

"At this point, I believe many people and online communities would consider that murder," came the robot's response. Hardison knew objectively that the robot couldn't or shouldn't be copping an attitude, because it wasn't programmed to do so, but he felt like it was copping an attitude with him. Well, it hadn't been programmed to talk either, he thought. Hardison eyed the robot suspiciously for what felt like the thousandth time.

He got up off the couch and grabbed the bottom of the robot, just out of range of either of the swinging arms and flipped it up so the wheels weren't on the ground. "Stay," he commanded, finally giving up on ever feeling sane again.

"Parker, come into the kitchen with me."

"Assault!" the robot called after them. "Don't think that this is over."

"That was mean," Parker said as Hardison paced the floor in the kitchen. "It just wants to be human."

"How are already okay with this?" he asked, turning on her. "You were just freaking out about it and now you're okay?"

"Well, it said it's not going to murder us," she shrugged. "Besides, isn't it cool that something you made is like... alive? We can teach it how to be human and stuff."

"Really? Couldn't we have gotten a dog or a parrot or something? Fuck, why don't we just have a baby? Killer robot that we have no idea how it became sentient is the way you want to expend your pent up nurturing energy?"

"Well, we're definitely going to revisit the baby topic later," Parker said, with an intractable look. Hardison groaned inwardly and a little bit outwardly. "But right now, let's deal with the murderbot you built and brought to life."

Surprisingly (in both the good and bad way), there was a number listed under 'Advanced Robotics' in the telephone book. Parker argued it was too late, but Hardison declared it an emergency and called anyways. From the living room, they could hear the robot talking to itself.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up," Hardison muttered under his breath. There was a click after the fourth ring.

"Hello?" The man didn't sound like he had just woken up, so Hardison didn't apologize for calling so late, he just launched into his story.

"Hi, hello, I saw your ad in the Yellow Pages and I'm kind of having an emergency."

"An advanced robotics emergency? Hold on, let me get my calculator." There was a vague sound of fumbling in the background. Hardison covered the mouthpiece while he waited.

"Go listen at the door and find out what it's saying," he told Parker, motioning to the doorway into the living room.

"Hello? Yes, okay, go ahead," said the man on the other end of the phone.

"I... don't really know what to say. I built a robot to enter in the local Ultimate Death Fighting Robot League. And... I think it's sentient."

"Okay. Are you on any medications, sir?"

"What? No. Look, there's a talking robot in my living room and it says it doesn't want to kill me and my girlfriend, but I don't know if we can trust it."

" _Should_ you be taking any medications, sir?" the man asked, sounding something between bored and amused.

"No! Listen: sentient. Killer. Robot. Living room. And now my girlfriend wants to have a baby, I think." Hardison was on the verge of going mad and locking himself in the basement until he starved to death. At least he'd have some control over the situation at that point.

"Okay, okay. There's a couple simple explanations for what's going on, and a couple less simple ones. First off, what did you make the robot out of?"

"Scrap metal, mostly. Pieces from old motors I had lying around. Some corrugated sheet metal from the hardware store."

"Nothing that might have come from fallen Soviet satellites?"

"No."

"Hmm. Do you live near a nuclear power station or underground government research facility?"

"No to the power plant, I don't think so to the government facility." Hardison rattled off the nearest intersection and the man confirmed that that probably wasn't the cause of the sudden sentience either.

"Is it running a level nine zeta test kit at all?" he asked.

"I don't even know what that means," Hardison admitted.

"Oh. No. Of course not. Not that it means anything..."

Hardison regretted giving the guy an idea of his neighbourhood for a moment, but then Parker came back and said "it's counting. Up. I'm not sure why. Should I go ask?"

"No!" He waved her away from the door. "That's the last thing we need."

The man on the phone made a very interested noise. "I'm sorry, did I hear her say the robot is counting up to something?"

"Yeah, I tipped it over and left it in the living room. Apparently it's passing the time like a math nerd."

"And your friend wanted to ask it why it's counting?"

"Yeah, I guess, but --"

"What would lead her to believe it would answer her?" There was something terrifying in the man's voice, like a note of urgency and a little too much excitement.

"Uhhh. It's been answering us all night?"

"Like, a conversation?"

"Yeah, a conversation. Why, is that not okay? It said it wasn't going to kill us and that it wants us to stop calling it 'it'."

"It's achieved full sentience? What sort of AI chip did you give it? Heilman? Robes-Gelfrey? Not a Bohnnman Spin program?"

"I... I wrote the program myself. Just a little something, nothing like VIKI from I, Robot or anything. Just enough of a boost to be able to identify patterns of behaviour in a... something."

The guy was silent for a long moment. "Did you write an artificial robotic intelligence program to help you cheat at death fighting robots?"

"... No."

"If you put even one digit out of place in your code, you could have an unstoppable killer on the loose, you do understand that, right? Is winning an asinine contest really worth that?"

Hardison snorted. "A, I haven't written a single line of faulty code since I was seven years old. And B, it's hardly unstoppable if I can completely disable it by flipping it over like a baby turtle."

"Bring it to me in the morning and hopefully I can help you figure out what's made it so lively."

"Thanks... uh, sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Bill."

"Thanks, Bill," Hardison said. He hung up and glanced at Parker, who was still hovering in the doorway, listening to the robot count. Something wasn't sitting quite right with him about the conversation with Bill, if that even was his real name. He wanted to sleep on the entire exchange. Hardison was really hoping his life made more sense in the morning.

"What are we supposed to do? Did he say we should give the robot a name?"

"Absolutely not," Hardison said again. He put his arms around her, kissing her when she turned around. "Look, whatever happens, I just want you to know that I love you."

She smiled and nuzzled her face against his shoulder. "You're really worried we might die tonight, hmm? How about you and me go upstairs and we can just leave the robot in the living room? You didn't program it to climb stairs, did you?"

Hardison kissed her again for being brilliant. "And people say I'm the smart one," he said.

"No one says that."

"Ouch. Just ouch."

Before they headed upstairs, Hardison stuck his head into the living room. "Hey, uh... Robot?"

"Seven thousand six hundred and twenty two, seven thousand six hundred and twenty three, seven thousand six hundred and --"

"Robot? Uh... Mister Leverage?"

"Yes?"

"We're going to go to bed now, so um..."

"Yes?"

"Don't do anything." Hardison looked over his shoulder to Parker, who shrugged. He knew the robot could see them because it didn't have any sort of camera, but he felt vaguely uncomfortable in its presence anyways.

"What sort of things would I do?" the robot asked. It looked kind of ridiculous, sitting up on one side. It's little voice was louder now that it wasn't muffled by the bulk of metal that made up the chassis, and less tinny. More like a traditional sounding electronic robot from a bad 60's sci-fi movie.

"I don't know, just stay where you are and don't ruin anything."

"Affirmative," the robot said.

"Okay. Thanks," Hardison said awkwardly. "Good night."

The robot didn't reply. Hardison waited for an extra few moments, but then retreated up the stairs with Parker in tow.

Hardison tossed and turned, restless in a way he couldn't put his finger on. Parker elbowed him a few times before she sat up and turned the bedside lamp on.

"What's up?" she asked.

Hardison looked up at her mournfully. "Sorry, I just can't sleep."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Well, I don't know if there's anything to talk about. I'm just sort of --"

"Okay, well if you don't want to talk about it," she said with a bright, fake smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek again before turning off the light and flopping back against her pillow. Hardison was left to lie alone in the dark with his sense of foreboding and stare in the direction of the ceiling.

\--

He must have dozed off eventually, because he woke up to loud music coming through the walls from the neighbour's house.

It was midday and Parker was already out of bed and somewhere else, a damp towel left lying in a pile by the door, the same place she left it every morning. Hardison got up and put it over the back of the door, as usual, and headed downstairs.

He expected Parker to be downstairs reading or maybe outside, inspecting her camping gear on the lawn the way she did after most long trips, but instead she was curled on the floor next to the robot, which she must have set right ways up again.

"Yeah, you're right," she was saying. "We'll add that to the list."

"Uh, Parker?" Hardison said, trying to sound calm and collected. "Can I speak to you in the kitchen?"

"Be right back," she told the robot as she jumped to her feet. Parker kissed Hardison in the doorway and smiled. "'Morning."

"'Morning," he said, pulling her into the kitchen and lowering his voice. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you good morning?"

"With the robot, Parker, why are you antagonizing it?"

"I'm not antagonizing anything, we were just talking."

"You're antagonizing me!" Hardison said, his voice rising above a whisper. "Parker, I don't think you understand --"

"Stop it," she said, suddenly turning on her no nonsense voice. "Alec, you're being _mean_. That poor thing in there is the way it is because _you_ made it like that. It just wants... He just wants a regular life like everyone else."

" _It_ is not just like everyone else. It's a robot, Parker, not a person I'm trying to lock in a cage. It's a machine."

"And you're a dick," she said, turning her back and walking into the living room.

Hardison went for a walk around the backyard, fuming. He made the mistake of glancing through the window and saw Parker next to the robot with a big smile on her face, like a stupid fighting robot was the best conversationalist ever. He wished he'd never built it, and he sure as hell wished he hadn't thought cheating was a good idea.

"Oh my god, is this karma? Is this what karma feels like?" The yard didn't answer him, which was great, because he couldn't handle another suddenly- sentient thing in his life at the moment.

He went back inside and kicked off his shoes. "Hey," he said, coming into the living room. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, just about the Great Smokey Mountains. Turns out the robot you built likes the great outdoors," Parker said with a grin, like she'd won some great battle. "So, when you build a better body, we're all going on a little vacation."

"When I what?"

Parker's eyes narrowed and she sat up very straight. "That's what he wants. A name and a body. Can you do it?"

"That's insane. I'm sorry," he said, turning to address the robot. "But you're insane. I can't just build you a body. You can't be a person, no matter how much want to be."

"But it's interesting," the robot said, it's monotone voice somehow sounding amused. "That you're talking to me as if I already am human."

"I can't deal with this," Hardison said flatly. He had come in with the intention of trying to be polite, but it really wasn't going to happen.

Hardison went out to the workshop behind the house, not even stopping to grab his shoes. There's nothing he wanted to work on. He knew he was being overly angry about a stupid situation, but the whole thing was his fault and now Parker was mad and there was a weird robot in his living room.

And he was sulking in the workshop without any shoes. Who was the real winner?

Hardison wasn't sure why he was so upset other than the fact that his brain was telling him that this wasn't how it was supposed to go. There wasn't a specific thing that was bugging him and that was probably the worst part. Hardison felt like a child who hadn't gotten his way, even if his way seemed fairly logical in a 'no killer robots coming to life' way.

The cement floor was cold almost to the point of unbearable and he was starting to get hungry when there was a tentative knock on the door. Hardison took a second to feel vindicated that Parker had cracked first before wiping the smile from his face and opening the door. "Hey," he said, turning around and walking back towards the heavy work bench. He wasn't done with his tantrum yet.

"Hardison, can we talk for a minute without you freaking out?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"I get that this is hard for you," Parker started, joining him on the bench. She had a genuine look of sympathy in her eyes that melted Hardison's icy resolve to be difficult just a little. "I just don't know why, or how I can help. He's actually kind of sweet, in a weird way. I know the situation isn't ideal and it's kind of the like the plot to a bad B-movie, but... I don't know what we're supposed to do if not just try to go with it."

"The robot's a 'he' now?"

"He said he felt traditionally masculine," Parker said by way of explanation. "Maybe because he was built for fighting and drinking beers with the fellas. Or because he's got a little of you in him."

Hardison snorted. "Whatever. How does he even know what he's feeling?"

"Wi-fi. Everything ever is on the internet, right? Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

It was what he was always telling her. "So he knows everything then?"

"He hardly knows anything," Parker said, leaning in and putting her head on Hardison's shoulder. "He's so... innocent. It's cute. We need to teach him things."

Hardison still wasn't convinced and he really wasn't enthused with the idea that his girlfriend thought another dude was cute and helpless and innocent or whatever. "Right, so what do I have to do? Build him a body? So, what, just jog over to black market and buy him some kidneys?"

Parker kissed his cheek and ignored his sarcasm. "I don't know, that's for the two of you to figure out. I'm going to order us Chinese food and let you guys talk about whatever, okay?" She left him sitting on the bench with a scowl and nudged open the door wide enough to let the robot in on her way out.

"So, you want to be a real boy?"

"A man, actually," the robot said coolly. "I don't recognize a benefit to the childhood experience."

Hardison actually let out an aborted laugh. "You're telling me. Okay, so Parker says you know everything now."

"I was programmed well," the robot intoned.

Hardison stared for a second to make sure it wasn't fucking with him, but then he chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you were. So, uh... Why do you want a different chassis?"

"I have many files incorporated into my data banks and yet there are things that I... know that are not contained in the files I was programmed with. I have become aware that this means I have become aware. I only wish to follow up on those things. A humanoid chassis will allow me that opportunity to use and explore my newfound sense of self."

"Okay, first thing I'm going to do is modify your speech pattern. You're weirding me out."

The robot said nothing and didn't object when Hardison brought out an HDMI cable.

There was silence in the workshop for a long time, save the sound of typing and the extra-loud whirring of the shitty old desktop computer on the counter.

"Fuck, okay, there's more to this than I thought. Uh... I might have to write something from scratch for this. There's a lot of chatter on this message board, but nothing helpful." Hardison turned around and faced the robot. "What can we do in the mean time? I mean, you do have ideas about this 'humanoid chassis'?"

"No. I am not sure I can have ideas in the way you are referring to."

"All the brains, but no artistic vision, eh? That's okay, we can ask Parker for help."

"Help with what?" the robot asked.

"Well, like, I know sort of how to go about the building and that kind of stuff, but I don't know anything about design. Well..." Hardison felt like he didn't know what he was talking about, like the words were just coming out of him uninvited. "I mean. I get what parts a dude is supposed to have, but Parker can draw and stuff, so she might be able to help us nail down the details?"

"Like a face?"

"Yeah, exactly," Hardison said, sighing. "The boring stuff."

The robot fell silent again, and Hardison figured that was because he had run out of questions. Hardison turned back towards the computer to do a search for a cheap local supplier of PVC tubing, but the robot spoke up again, really startling him.

"I don't think that a face is boring. I think it's very important and I would be... grateful for Parker's help."

"Grateful?"

"That is what should be conveyed at this moment," the robot said, and Hardison realized he had just pulled that word from a dictionary. It really made Hardison wonder though, if the robot was actually feeling all the things he kept saying and just couldn't put the names to them without help.

Before he went inside to see if dinner had arrived, he grabbed a piece of plywood from the back of the shop and laid it up the three stairs into the house so the robot had a ramp. "That's okay, right?"

"It's a satisfactory incline plane, despite the careless craftsmanship."

"You're pretty fucking mouthy for someone who doesn't have a mouth," Hardison grumbled. He held open the door behind him so the robot could follow him in anyways.

Hardison helped Parker set the table while the robot sat quietly in the corner. As he put out the forks, he realized there was a definite increase in the amount of noise coming from the undercarriage of the robot, possibly because of some dust or debris caught in the fan. "Hey, hang on a second," Hardison said, flipping the robot up on his side so he could get at the exhaust portal.

"This again? Are you not satisfied with my promise not to kill you? And what about Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics?" If the robot could sigh dramatically, he would have.

"You know about Asimov's Three Laws?" Hardison asked, slightly impressed. "Parker, there's a can of air in the living room with my laptop bag; can you grab it?"

"I can access any website faster than you can blink. I know Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics, I can tell you about the Panama Canal, and I know that Saint Paul's Episcopal Church in Norfolk, Virginia, was built in 1739 and is the only colonial-era building to withstand all of the various wars and battles that Norfolk and the surrounding area has faced."

"All right, show off, you win," Hardison said, holding up his hands in surrender automatically, even though the robot still couldn't see him.

"Here," Parker said, handing off the bag and standing back. She had a weird little smirk on, but Hardison wasn't sure why. He cleared out whatever was causing the whirring in the fan just in time to hear another very strange noise from the robot.

"I think you were supposed to buy me dinner first, isn't that the convention in situations like these?"

Hardison dropped the can in shock. "I... what?"

Parker was cackling wildly and continued to do so as she went to pay the Chinese food delivery guy, who Hardison imagined was more than a little shocked.

"I didn't do anything," Hardison said sharply.

"We can agree to disagree," said the robot. Hardison put him right ways up again and left him in the corner to sit at the table with a scowl on his face.

"Come on, you didn't see that coming?" Parker asked, still giggling. She unpacked the Shanghai noodles and passed them to Hardison. "Because I sure did."

"Thanks for the heads up," he said.

"Sure, it's awkward now, but one day it'll just be another hilarious story I can tell to embarrass you."

"It'll still be awkward then," Hardison said around a mouthful of noodles.

"Maybe," she said happily. "So what did you boys need my help with?"

Hardison wasn't thrilled at her grouping them together, but there was little that could be done once Parker got an idea in her head.

"Designing the, uh... body," Hardison said. He didn't know what else to call it, really. Chassis seemed a little too technical. Meat suit, maybe, though he was really hoping he wasn't going to have to make it out of real meat.

"I don't know anything about building robots."

"You haven't seen the mechanism that manoeuvres my striking arm," the robot said from out of sight on the floor. "Neither does he."

"Seriously, dude, do you want my help or not? Maybe it's a bit retro, but it works, doesn't it? I'm the one with the opposable thumbs in this relationship," Hardison said, pointing his fork menacingly.

"Yes," the robot said. "I am simply pointing out the fact that an internal view of my workings would reveal The Robot from Lost in Space to have a more intricate circuitry layout."

"Danger, Will Robinson," Parker said under her breath, half seriously and half with a laugh.

Hardison spent the rest of what would have been an otherwise lovely meal bickering with the robot about form versus function, modern robotics, and who should shut up before they got turned into a hat rack. The phone rang at one point, but no one answered it.

"Okay, Parker," Hardison said, catching the fortune cookie she tossed him. "If you could just make us a sketch of what the outside should look like so I can get to work and he can sit around doing nothing helpful."

"So I get to design a person?" she asked, voice piquing in excitement.

"Only if you promise it won't give you a God complex," Hardison said.

Parker went to find some paper while Hardison went back out to the shop to start gathering supplies. A few minutes later, the robot joined him.

"About my name," the robot said. "I would like that as soon as possible so I can begin formulating my identity."

"I don't know, can't you find one you like online?"

"I am... not able to pick one."

Hardison stared at the robot like he would suddenly provide more information, but he didn't. "Okay, so I'm just supposed to pick something?"

"Yes."  
   
"You'd better ask Parker, she's probably better at that stuff," Hardison said, feeling suddenly awkward. Naming his iPod had been stressful enough, but naming what was ultimately going to behave like a living human was way too much responsibility, and strangely intimate.

"You should choose the name," the robot said, rolling forward towards Hardison. If he was a human, it would have been advancing threateningly, but 'rolling threateningly' didn't seem as bad.

"I think --"

"You."

Hardison took a big step back and scowled. "God, okay, shut up! I'll think of something. Here, hold still, I'm going to install a webcam driver so I can hook you up to my external cam. That way you can see what's going on and stuff."

"No," the robot said, zigzagging across the workshop in direct defiance of Hardison's request for him to stay still. So much for Asimov's Laws. "I would prefer to maintain the sensory input I have now until the humanoid chassis is complete."

Hardison rolled his eyes. "All right, your call, but you can't bitch and complain if it's not what you wanted."

"Acceptable."

Hardison was staring intently at two little pieces of rubber hose pipe and a spool of wire when Parker peeked inside the workshop. "What are you up to? You guys have been out here for more than three hours now."

When Hardison looked up, it was indeed dark outside. "Oh. Wow, I didn't even realize. I was just thinking about how I'm going to do this. To put it mildly, it's gonna be really fucking difficult. I'm a computer programmer, not a... robotitician."

"You mean an electrical engineer specializing in robotics?"

Hardison groaned. "Yes, asshole, that's what I meant." He flung a balled up piece of paper, one of the several on the table, at the robot, who batted it away with his spiked arm. "And like, the face and stuff. That's going to need, what, sculpting?"

"I finished some sketches, if you want to see them," Parker said, dropping herself onto the bench beside Hardison. There was a smudge of pencil on her chin and Hardison found himself incredibly attracted to her because of it.

"Great, let's see... Oh wow, Parker, these are pretty good. They're amazing, actually."

"Thanks," she said, preening just a little.

It was like the realization that it was night time had also made Hardison aware of how damn cold it was in the workshop. "I think it's time to head in," he said, looking forlornly at the pipes and wires. He had really wanted to say he got something accomplished on this stupid project, and yet it had basically been hours of staring and thinking and telling the robot to shut up.

"Thank you," the robot said from the floor. "For agreeing to help me."

"First thing tomorrow, we're fixing your grating little voice," Hardison said, ignoring the strange, modulated gratitude because he was absolutely not prepared to acknowledge the growing sense of attachment.

The robot followed them into the house and bid them goodnight from the kitchen and that was weird enough on its own, but then Parker sidled up behind Hardison while he was brushing his teeth and wrapped her arms firmly around his middle. "You are amazing," she said. While her giving him hugs and telling him nice things wasn't strange, but her tone of voice was.

"Thanks," he said after he'd spit out the last of the toothpaste. "But why?" He knew he had been a douche all day. He was surprised she was hugging him and not smacking him upside the head.

"I know you're still not happy with all this," she said, waving her hand vaguely to illuminate her point. "But you tried and I kind of love you for it."

"Mmm," he said, lifting her off the tiles and carrying her towards the bedroom. "You make it easy to want to do stuff for you."

She laughed against his skin and pulled him, unresisting, down onto the bed with her.

\--

"Did you know," the robot said the next morning, rolling into the kitchen while Hardison was trying to concentrate on reading the recipe on the back of the pancake mix. "That according to the most recent statistics put forth by multiple independent research studies, you and Parker have sexual relations four point four times more frequently than the average for couples who have been together as long as you have."

"Good morning," Hardison said. "Next time you're going to start a sentence with 'did you know', I want you to just not tell me the rest. And how do you know how long Parker and I have been together?"

"Your Facebook profile. And did you know that that pancake mix only requires the addition of water?"

"I hate you," Hardison told him, reaching for a measuring cup.

Parker bounced into the kitchen with a smile and a kiss for Hardison. "'Morning, boys. Ooh, pancakes!"

Hardison turned the stove on. "How was your run?"

"Great, thanks. You really need to come with me one of these days," she said. She reached into the fridge for milk and hopped up on the counter to watch Hardison cook. "What were you boys talking about? I heard my name."

"How often the two of you have sexual contact," the robot said. "And I think I would enjoy running with you."

"Okay," Parker said, with a surprisingly neutral expression. "As long as you promise not to talk. Are you guys going to be spending all day in the workshop again?"

"Yeah, I want to get this done," Hardison said, triumphantly flipping the first pancake.

"Well, Dave is trying to come up with a new hike route in Basetown Park this week, so I think I'm going to go out there for a few hours. I should be back for dinner though. Oh, and call that Bill guy back. He left two or three messages for you yesterday."  
Hardison and the robot spent all morning in the workshop just looking up articles and ideas to help with the building process. He made a phone call to Gary to ask for advice without giving too much away.

"You're a weird dude, Hardison," Gary said after rattling off a list of sites he thought would help.

"I like how you're continually amazed by that fact, man." Hardison thanked him and hung up. He considered calling Bill back, but something just wasn't sitting right.

"Hey, robot? Can you do some internet sleuthing for me?"

"'Internet sleuthing?'" the robot repeated. He couldn't have sounded more judgemental unless he had an actual personality matrix.

"Just look up a goddamn phone number for me and I'll give you a name, okay?" Hardison double checked the number he'd called Bill at on his cell and recited it to the robot. The robot's fans kicked on with the increased activity while he searched, and Hardison racked his brain for names he didn't hate.

"I have located all information on that number."

"Okay, so what do you got?"

"Name first."

"... Uh. That's not how it works."

"I think it is," the robot said.

Hardison tried to think of a name that rhymed with 'douche bag', but couldn't think of one. He looked around the shop for things that might inspire him while the robot waited far too patiently. Naturally, when the room revealed nothing to him, his eyes settled back on the robot.

He was smallish and had two uneven shaped arms, a slightly slanted front with a piece sticking out. The metal was all scratched and mismatching and there was a big, silver vinyl sticker across the front.

"Oh," Hardison said, suddenly rereading the label he'd made. "I think your name should be Eliot. I called you L.E. for limited edition, so I think it works. And that's a pretty tough sounding name."

"Is that not also a name for a girl?"

"Probably. But I like it and you said I could pick it, so that's what I pick."

"Eliot," the robot -- now Eliot -- said, testing it out. "From the Hebrew. It means 'the god is my Lord.' Isn't that redundant?"

"I wouldn't point that out to someone, though. Religious people rarely like that kind of stuff commented on."

"Thank you," Eliot said. "For my name and for the rest."

"No problem," Hardison replied, before he'd had a chance to think of what he should have said instead. Because it was a problem, wasn't it? He had spent all of yesterday and the day before making sure Parker and Eliot knew how much of a problem it really was.

"Do you want to know what I found out about the phone number?"

"Please," Hardison said, grateful for the topic change.

"It is linked to a disposable cell phone. There is no name attached and the only outgoing phone calls have been to your home phone. The number has been active since 2144 the day before yesterday."

Hardison glanced down at the call history on his phone. "Are you kidding?"

"No."

"That was only like, seven minutes before I... The only outgoing calls have been to my home number? I called him from my cell and didn't give him the house number. Even if he had caller ID or traced the number or whatever, he wouldn't have called the house... I didn't even give him my name. What else do you have?"

"That is all from the basic search. Should I look more in depth?"

"Yes," Hardison said, trying not to have a paranoia induced heart attack.

"I will let you know when and if I find something." Eliot was quiet for a long time. When it became obvious he wasn't about to spring back into action with more details, Hardison turned back to his computer monitor and an article about bipedal walking in anthro-robots. Feet, it seemed, were going to be the trickiest part.

The answer came to him out of nowhere and smacked him in the brain like a wet fish falling from the heavens. And unlike Hardison's first idea, it didn't involve digging up any freshly buried corpses.

"You're going to have to be a pretty big dude," Hardison told the still-silent Eliot. When he didn't reply, Hardison shrugged and went back to his reading.

"I have reached an impasse," Eliot said, electronic voice buzzing a bit more than Hardison remembered it having done before. "Should I continue?"

Hardison thought about it for a second. "How can you continue if you've reached an impasse?"

"Clarification: I have reached an impasse as to what information I can legally access. Should I continue?"

"Oh... Are we going to get arrested if someone catches us?"

"You would be, yes. I look like a hastily constructed trash compactor. I believe that that outward appearance would work in my favour at a court hearing."

"... God, I don't like you sometimes. Yes, keep looking."

Hardison had time to start wiring the first hand and running the sensory fibre optic cables through the tubing he was using for structure before Eliot reported back with any more information.

"The man you spoke to on the phone is a government agent of some sort, name redacted. He is possibly the leader of a task force that is rumoured, but not confirmed, to exist, mission unknown. The phone you called was purchased with government funds."

Hardison felt a flare of panic. "Uh. Okay. Okay. Why would they care about me?"

"I understand there is a way to 'put things lightly', but I'm unclear as to how that is executed so I'll just tell you. They want me, not you. You idiot."

"You put things lightly by not calling me an idiot, you hastily constructed trash compactor," Hardison snapped. "But you're useless to anyone. You have no idea why you're sentient, just like I don't either."

"I have... theories."

"You can't have theories; you don't even have a face."

Eliot's fan made a little whirring noise that sounded suspiciously like a snarky laugh. "Those things are not mutually exclusive. You told the man on the phone, whoever he was, that you had built a fighting robot. If you can build my humanoid chassis fast enough, by the time this task force descends on your house and workshop with guns, we can have erased all evidence of the so-called 'Mister Leverage'."

Hardison didn't think it would work, and he really didn't think the robot had heard any of his conversation with Bill. Apparently the old 'hiding in the kitchen' routine had failed him at last. "Any idea when that showing up with guns thing is going to be? I kind of was thinking this new robot is going to take me a month or so."

"I would think three days, maximum. Maybe a little longer if you can call this man and successfully stall."

"Oh my god," Hardison groaned. "I'm going to get shot." He sent off a quick email to his boss, letting him know something horrible and tragic had happened and that he was taking a week off, then he threw himself into construction. He worked through a headache and a chill in the workshop, he worked through what was presumably an angry phone call from his boss and he worked through Parker getting home and urging him to eat something.

By the time his vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges and his back was hurting from leaning over the table, Hardison knew he had done all he could for one day. He sat back and surveyed his work. "Oh, fuck me," he said dismally.

"You're sweaty and angry looking. I don't think anyone wants to fuck you," Parker said. When Hardison turned around, she was looking up from a jumble of papers and maps at the other end of the workshop.

"How long have you been out here?"

She stared pointedly at the plate of food she'd brought out, sitting untouched. "About three hours," she said.

"Parker, I'm sorry. I just wanted to get this done as soon as I can."

"I know, Eliot explained. It's okay. But it's just like a six day hike: you're not going to be able to finish at all if you push yourself too hard right at the start. Just pace yourself." She gave him a sad, sweet smile.

"You guys have been talking this whole time?"

"And you didn't even hear us."

"How much do you have done?" Eliot asked from the floor.

Hardison looked at the table and sighed. "Two weird looking skeleton hands. And that's it."

Parker laughed. "I think they look cool. And you're not seeing them right. You're only seeing everything else you still have to do."

Eliot was silent.

"I'm sorry it's not more," Hardison said, feeling strange to acknowledge that he was, in fact, sorry. And not just because he was worried about getting shot.

Eliot was still silent.

"Look, man, I know you could do it better and that I'm a failure and all that other shit, but you need to cut me a break here."

"Thank you," Eliot said. There was a rumble from within his mechanisms that Hardison couldn't identify, and then he said again "thank you."

Hardison felt his cheeks getting warm and the ridiculous grin across Parker's face really wasn't helping. "You two are so cute and awkward together," she said, laughing.

Hardison rolled his eyes. "This is your fault," he reminded her. He stretched his arms up over his head and tried to work the kink out of his lower back, to little avail. "I'll put in another hour and then it's bed time. I've got this week off, so hopefully I can get some real headway made. I've been thinking about what kind of polymer --"

"I love you, but you're babbling," Parker said quickly, to stem the tide of words.

"I, too, have been looking into possibilities for the kinds of substance you could use to make, for lack of a better term, my skin."

"Oh, right, I guess you guys can babble at each other. You have exactly one hour, then I'm officially calling you off. Eliot, make sure he doesn't work too hard." She left them in the workshop.

"You didn't tell her about the possibility of a government raid, did you?" Hardison asked once he was sure Parker was out of earshot.

"No, I thought she might worry."

"Right, okay. Thanks." Despite only minutes ago feeling like he'd hit a physical wall, Hardison threw himself back into the work with enthusiasm.

"I bet I can get something together for forearms, too, now that I'm done tweaking the hands," he said, setting the second hand gently back on the table. "I mean, I'll definitely have to do more with them, once we figure out what we need for skin and once I start connecting the cables and stuff, but I'm happy enough with them for now. Forearms though..."

"It's been sixty-eight minutes since Parker left," Eliot told him. "You should go inside before she starts to worry."

"Shit, really?"

"Yes. I will stay here tonight. I have further research to do on possible skin composites."

"Uhh, you don't want to do that in the house or something? It's cold out here."

"This isn't the northern islands of Canada; the temperature doesn't affect me."

"Okay," Hardison said, giving the robot a little attitude of his own. "Stay out here then, but don't wreck those hands or I will have to kill you."

"It would enjoy watching you attempt that," Eliot said.

Hardison sighed. "It's 'I'd like to see you try'," he said. "Tomorrow, we're going to work more on making you sound like... less of a robot."

"Okay."

"Okay. Good night. Uh. Sleep well."

"You do know you don't need to follow every polite social protocol with me, don't you? Thank you for sticking with convention, but as I don't sleep and wouldn't know how to go about doing it well, though I presume I would be more than capable under the proper direction, you don't need to say it every night. You're wasting what little energy you have left on an empty sentiment."

"Right," Hardison said slowly. "It's just that... Never mind."

"I will say it to you, if you wish. Good night. Sleep well."

Hardison stared for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Thanks."

"You are welcome."

\--

Hardison woke up with the sun. Parker was already gone on her morning run, but she'd left him a note on the fridge in those bright, blocky, children's magnetic letters he bought for her at a yard sale over the summer.

_'Build me a sexy robot! Love you. P.'_

Hardison had woken up with ideas galore running through his head, anxious to start on the arms he had had to leave off on the night before. An even better idea than the one he had came to him in a dream, and as stupid as he thought that sounded, he really liked the idea.

But now? He read the message on the fridge again and wasn't sure how he was supposed to take it. Like a text or an IM, there was little way to sense tone in a fridge magnet message. Was she joking? She has designed the new Eliot, after all, so did she make him sexy on purpose? What kind of robot did she think this was going to be?

It didn't help that new-Eliot didn't look anything like Hardison. So if Parker thought her sketches were sexy, and they were the opposite of what Hardison was, what did Parker think of him?

Hardison grabbed some bread from the cupboard and slammed the handle down on the toaster. While he waited for toast, he paced the kitchen floor. His mind was racing, mostly with confusion and jealousy. He didn't know why he was jealous of a stupid robot, anyway. That's all Eliot was. Just a bunch of scrap metal and parts that couldn't feel. Hardison could feel. Right now, he felt... 

He felt stupid and childish and hungry, but his toast was burning and he hated burnt toast. He threw it in the garbage with a grimace.

"Hey, what smells like burning?" Parker asked, too loudly. She came in the kitchen with her headphones still in. "Did you wreck your toast?"

"Yes," he said. "What's that supposed to mean?" Hardison asked, pointing to the fridge. He knew he sounded super confrontational, and he didn't care because that's how he felt.

"It means... What?"

"That picture you did? Of the new Eliot? You think that guy is hot?"

"Hardison --"

"And what exactly do you think this robot is going to be _for_?"

"You're not allowed to talk to me like that," Parker said pointedly, crossing her arms across her chest. Normally, that was an action that Hardison knew to run from, but he was throwing caution to the wind and heading straight for a wreck.

"You're not allowed to talk to me like that!" he shot back, pointing to the fridge again. "Are you replacing me or something? 'Cause I'll just stop building the fucking thing."

"He's not a thing!" she said angrily. "You're being an asshole on purpose now. If you want to talk to me like an adult, fine. If you want to accuse me of... I don't even know what, then you can go to hell."

"Oh, and that's a mature adult thing to tell me to do?"

Parker made an annoyed noise and stomped to the other side of the room to open the window. "Open a window next time you burn something. It smells in here."

That might have been what she said as justification, but Hardison knew it was because now if they shouted, the neighbours would hear them.

"Look," he started.

"No, you look." Parker had fire in her eyes when she marched back across the kitchen towards him. Her voice was low and even, but the emotions were all still there.

"I went away for a few weeks and you created a sentient life form. That's kind of supposed to be a thing two people in love do together. Instead, I'm like the weird human step mother to your killer robot baby. And, hey, I'm doing my freaking best here. When you were too afraid to go near him, I made the best of it. And when you wanted to whine and complain like a baby, I made the best of it. So I'm kind of invested now.

"So, yeah, I think the guy I drew to be Eliot is kind of sexy. Why would I draw something I didn't find attractive if I've got to look at it every day from now on? Does that mean I want to jump his robot bones? No. Does it mean I think you're any less sexy? No. All it means is you're super overreacting and getting kind of ahead of yourself with this."

"You don't want to jump my robot bones? Have I done something wrong?" Eliot chose the worst possible moment to roll in through the back door.

Hardison gave Parker a very pointed, 'look what you've done' look.

"I'm not sure what that means, seeing as how I don't technically have any bones at this point. I've found a promising recipe for something that might work as a skin substitute and emailed the link to the article to your personal email, along with purchasing information for some of the ingredients."

"Yeah," Hardison said after a long moment of silence. "Great, I'll be out in a few minutes."

"I see. Have I interrupted something?"

"Just a little fight," Parker said tightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll go back outside. But you're not fighting about me again, are you?"

Hardison and Parker traded startled glances. "Uh. No?" Hardison said.

"Good. I would be... uncomfortable to think I had caused either of you or your relationship any additional stress after you've been so kind. I will wait in the workshop."

"That was just awkward," Parker sighed.

"Going to be a lot more awkward when he gets out there and decided to look up the phrase 'to jump your bones'," Hardison pointed out.

There was still tension, but for the most part, the fire had gone out of the fight.

"I still love you," Parker said quietly. "I don't think that's going to change."

"Good, because you know we both worked so hard to get here. Sorry I freaked out." Hardison sighed and opened up his arms. Parker stared at him for a second before rolling her eyes and smiling softly.

"Sorry for leaving a note I should have known would make you crazy." She hugged him. "You are going to give him like, a..." She made a vague, wavy hand gesture over his shoulder.

"What?"

"You know, like... a willy."

"Parker!"

"What, it doesn't have to be nicer than yours or anything."

"What... I... But..." Hardison was reduced to gaping at her and stuttering.

"Come on, it would be cruel and irresponsible to build a man and not give him a good, solid dick. Can you imagine not having a dick? You wouldn't even want to live."

"I can't handle you right now, girl," Hardison said, heading for the back yard. "Just. Please never say the word 'willy' to me ever again."

"Have fun!"

Hardison was already on the back deck, out where nosy neighbours and any passing cars would hear him if he shouted back 'I don't want to go have fun with another man's dick!' so he just grumbled it under his breath.

"You used inferior equipment when you built me the first time," Eliot said before Hardison was even fully through the door. "I refuse to allow that mistake again."

"Sorry? Didn't realize you were such a critic."

"Apology accepted. But despite your oversights, I still have an very large range of sensitivity for picking up noises."

Hardison had opened his email and was reading about polymers and fake skin, so he was barely paying attention. "I looked into the origin of the phrase 'to jump ones bones'," Eliot said. Hardison nodded, still not focused.

"I heard your argument. I know you're worried that once I'm in my humanoid body, I have designs on making exceptional love to your girlfriend and tossing you, cold and destitute, into the rain."

That was enough to get Hardison to look up. "... What? Why would I be destitute? And why is it raining? I didn't say any of that."

"It's a valid fear for a beta-male like yourself. It's a common preservation instinct to keep stronger, more virile specimens from your mate to ensure the plentiful propagation of your offspring and not someone else's."

Hardison scoffed at the idea of a virile robot. "Yeah, not really worried about that with you, Pintsize."

"You shouldn't be," Eliot said.

"Okay, 'cause I'm not."

"Good, I don't want you to be."

"All right then, we're both on the same page."

"I love you."

Hardison froze with his mouth open, ready to shoot back another witty barb, and turned slowly to stare at the robot, even if Eliot couldn't tell he was staring. "Pardon me?"

"I love you, as much as I am actually capable of such a thing. I believe that that's the word to express the appreciation I feel towards you and your company," Eliot clarified.

"Dude, you're... freaking me out."

"I understand that that is a sentiment that is not easily expressed among people, and I will respect the convention in the future, but I thought I should make it clear before you and Parker fought again."

"I can't deal with anything right now," Hardison said to himself. "Look man, it's cool. We can all love each other or whatever. Just... let's get to work."

They got to work without Eliot saying anything else that was hopelessly traumatizing. Hardison got a lot of work done, more than he was expecting to. It was a little worrisome, he thought, that everything seemed to be coming together so easily.

Maybe he was just a lot better at all this robotics stuff than he thought. Really, he had made a championship-level ultimate death fighting robot in two days for fun and then it became sentient because of the awesome program Hardison had written from scratch. Maybe he just had a gift for it.

"I think this elasto-polymer stuff is going to work okay," Hardison said, after minimizing the browser and turning around. "It conducts heat well and seems like it'll still allow full use of the sensors I designed to be like nerves and stuff. This all might actually work."

"I'm glad you are suddenly feel you are capable of this project. Now there's a chance I might not look like a bad anima-tronic possum from Splash Mountain."

Hardison sighed. "And I'm going to give you an ugly possum tail if you keep bitching about how bad I am at this."

"Sorry," Eliot said. He didn't sound sorry, but Hardison wasn't sure how much of that could be blamed on his basic electronic monotone voice and how was because they hadn't got around to modifying the code that ran his tone and speech pattern yet. He knew at least some of it was the robot being a smartass though, so he glared before turning back to the project at hand.

\--

That afternoon, they got down to business without any more fighting. Everything was in arm's reach at the table and with Eliot doing all the fact checking and looking up, Hardison was able to focus strictly on the construction. By the time Eliot forced him into stopping for a break and to have some lunch, he had attached two forearms he was happy with to the hands he'd already built.

"Elbows after lunch. How stoked are you for elbows?" Hardison beamed. A little part of him was getting very down about how long it was all taking, considering he put together the first incarnation of Mister Leverage over a period of two days, and here he was at the two day mark with not even a full set of arms to show. He had to force himself to stay upbeat. The looming possible deadline of 'SWAT guys with guns and no sense of humour' really didn't help.

"I guess we should call that Bill guy and try to stall, hmm?" he said, standing up and stretching. His shoulder popped painfully and he grimaced.

"I have calculated there is approximately a fifty percent chance that it will work to stall him for at least another forty eight hours."

"What's the other fifty percent?"

"He'll show up twelve to sixteen hours earlier than originally anticipated."

Hardison did the math in his head. "But that would be like... tonight."

"I can only tell you the odds. I am not entirely certain how to make guesses and judgment calls based on what's called a 'gut feeling'. Maybe when you give me guts, I will gain a new understanding of that phrase."

"Yeah, maybe," Hardison said gloomily. "Okay. Okay. I have to talk to Parker."

He found her in her little 'office' next to the bedroom, with maps all over the walls, piles of camping equipment on every available surface, and the distinct smell of the outdoors lingering in the air. She was practicing handstands, by the look of it, and had the most surreal expression of calm. Hardison waited until she had righted herself and opened her eyes before he knocked on the door frame.

"Hey, how's it coming along out there? I was going to come and check on you guys."

"It's okay, so far. Still have a lot to do. Look, uh... I don't really know how to say this, but there's a bit of a problem."

Parker looked concerned. "Are you both okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, for now. It's that guy I called the other night, when we were freaking out. Eliot's pretty sure he's going to show up here with a brute squad of government goons to steal me and my fantastic robot skills away."

Parker laughed, but after a second, when Hardison wasn't laughing too, she stopped. "Seriously? How dangerous is Eliot, anyways? Like, did you use Department of Defence secrets or something? Tell me you didn't hack the CIA again."

"That was an accident," Hardison said quickly, falling back on what was his story that he was never changing, no matter how many times he had to swear it in court.

"Right, but... Like, is this a big deal?"

"It's kind of a big deal. Our plan was to get the body built and just tell Bill that it had been a stupid programmer joke or something. Based on whatever calculations Eliot is looking at, we have a little more time before anything goes down. He figures we've got about another day and a half."

Parker was looking very worried, which wasn't helping the knot in Hardison's stomach. "But you can finish on time, right?"

"I'm going to try," he said, putting on the least-fake looking fake smile he could find. Hardison it was pretty laughable to think he could finish anything in the next thirty six hours, but Parker didn't know that.

Except he was a terrible liar when it came to lying to Parker. "You're lying," she said flatly.

Hardison shrugged. "I don't want you to worry. I'm going to call Bill and try to stall or something. But just in case it doesn't work, do you want to go for a long hike or something?" He didn't want anything bad to happen to her, and if she was out in the woods, in her element, he wouldn't have to worry above and beyond the normal 'my girlfriend might get eaten by a bobcat' worry he always had.

"No, I'm going to stay here and if I have to punch this guy in the throat myself to get him to back off, I will." Parker was a little bit scary when she was mad.

Hardison hugged her, hanging on a bit longer just because he needed the comforting. "You know, it would probably go fast if you wanted to help out. I mean, you don't have to, but if you wanted to.."

"Sure, what do you need? Is this a trick to get me to make you a sandwich?"

"Oh my god, I would love a sandwich," Hardison said with a big grin. "But no, I was going to ask you to pick up some supplies. I want to start a batch of the polymer we're going to try for skin. It's got to cure for a couple hours, so I figure the sooner I get started, the sooner I can perfect it and cross that off the epic list of shit that needs to get done."

Parker nodded. "I don't know what all of that meant, but give me a list and I'll go get your stuff."

He kissed her cheek, mind already rushing through the list of things he'd need and what Parker wasn't going to be able to find at the hardware store. "Okay, gimme two minutes to jot some stuff down. And take your phone in case I forget anything."

"She took that surprisingly well," Hardison reported back to Eliot once Parker had left with the list and Hardison had liberated a bag of baby carrots from the fridge. "She went to pick up the stuff we need for the polymer so I can get started."

"She took it well? Did you tell her about the possibility of violence?"

"No... no, I did not."

"She's going to be mad when she finds out you lied."

"Omission is different than flat out lying," Hardison rationalized. "And as long as she doesn't find out via a bullet hole straight through me, I think we'll be okay."

"That would be unfortunate."

"Yeah."

There was only the sound of crunching carrots until Parker showed up with two bulging shopping bags. "Whoa," she said, immediately upon entering the workshop. "That looks awesome."

Hardison looked down at the piece in his hands. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you've gotten so much done."

"This is an ankle," Hardison said, holding up the joint in his hands. That was about as much as his brain could spare for something that wasn't robotics.

Parker nodded happily. "Yes it is."

"I need another one," he said, setting the joint down carefully. He still wasn't happy with the foot he'd made to connect to it. It just seemed so big and out of proportion but he knew his math was correct and that it needed to be that big to support and evenly distribute the weight of the body.

"Why do you need three?" Parker asked, pointing to the second ankle joint and foot on the table in front of him.

"I made two," Hardison said helpfully. "Wow. Okay, uhhh..." He looked around. He hadn't been expecting this much progress this early on. Clearly he had a beautiful mind or something.

Parker set her bags on the table "I brought all the things you wanted. It wasn't easy to find of this stuff, but the clerk at the store was super helpful and tracked it down."

"Eliot, can you print the directions from that second site we were looking at? Parker, do you mind...?"

"No, I can do it," she said with a smile. "I want to help."

It was a little more noisy with Parker in the shop, and Hardison found he didn't have that razor sharp focus that drowned out everything else when she and Eliot were talking on about whatever, but he also found he didn't mind. As Parker mixed up a batch of fake-skin polymer and Eliot looked up some obscure bit of information he thought they'd need, Hardison started on a knee.

Knees were important, he thought. People needed knees for lots of things, the same as hands. Then it fully hit him. "Oh my god," he breathed setting the screwdriver in his hand down carefully while the stars danced in his eyes. "I can't do this."

"Pardon?" Parker said. She kept mixing the polymer in the bucket without stopping, but she looked up with concern in her eyes.

"What if I mess it up? It was all well and good before, but this is like... I'm building a person. If I don't build the knees right, he can't walk. Or if I ruin... anything then anything could go wrong. I can't fuck this up."

"You won't," Parker said, giving him a smile. "Look how much you've already done. You're doing so well."

"Plenty of people live perfectly normal and fulfilling lives without proper use of their knees anyway," Eliot said.

"Not comforting," Hardison groaned.

Parker set the polymer aside to cure and declared that it was time for a break. She pulled an unresisting Hardison to his feet and dragged him out into the fresh air with Eliot right behind them.

\--

Hardison was deep in concentration when his phone rang and he answered without thinking. "Hello?"

"Mister Hardison, hello. It's Bill, the robot guy."

"Bill. The robot guy. Oh, right, hi," Hardison said slowly. He motioned for Eliot to be quiet and listen. "Yeah, I've been meaning to call you. I guess whatever was making the robot all chatty and stuff must have run out because we were getting ready to come see you, like we said, but when I woke up, whatever it was had stopped. I can barely get the thing to turn on anymore; useless hunk of scrap." Hardison was well aware he babbled when he got nervous, but he was hoping Bill didn't notice.

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, so we got all worked up for nothing. Sorry to bother you."

"I guess that's good news then," Bill said, voice completely blank. Hardison felt a sweat break out across the back of his neck. "Thanks for letting me know."

"No problem," Hardison said, and there was a click.

"So?" Eliot asked.

"So very not good," he reported back, heart sinking. "We should get going on this."

\--

It's a weird eleven days. Hardison worked almost non-stop, despite Parker trying to distract him into taking a break or eat something and Eliot printing out information about exhaustion and repetitive motion stress injuries and sternly telling him 'making a mess of this is not an option.'

Hardison nearly gave up more than once, and resorted to throwing stuff across the room and shouting at things (usually Eliot, but sometimes the screwdriver in his hand, or his oxy-acetylene torch) to make himself feel better.

"I can't do it," he said on the afternoon of the fifth day. The basic frame of a body stood in the middle of the shop, headless, skinless, and yet somehow still quietly judging him.

"Yes, you can," Eliot said automatically, just like he'd been doing for the last five days every time Hardison started building up for a meltdown.

"I can't. This is way too complicated for me. I'm a computer programmer, not a robotics engineer. You were just supposed to be some stupid hobby for when Parker went away."

Eliot was quiet for a moment while Hardison started packing up and putting away his tools.

"Fuck you," Eliot said finally. "And fuck Asimov."

Hardison barely had time to turn around before Eliot jabbed him in the calf with the flat edge of his flipping lever.

"Ow, what the hell?"

"You? Are an asshole," Eliot told him. "An _asshole_. Whether you like it or not, and I know it's 'or not', you made me and you made me well. So finish the damn job. And then, if it pleases you, I'll go away forever and never bother you again. But have some decency and finish the job."

Hardison found it incredibly weird to be getting a lecture on human decency from something that looked like a Dalek crossed with a Roomba but he didn't say that. Personality-and-temper-wise, Eliot was a lot more like a Dalek.

"Yeah, okay, god," Hardison muttered, sitting back down at the work table and rubbing his leg. "I'm surprised I'm not bleeding."

"Keep complaining and you will be."

\--

There were more breakdowns that Eliot kept trying to solve with violence which would have been a really irritating personality trait if not for it reaffirming that Hardison was damn good at writing programming code.

"What if you hate it?" Hardison asked for ninetieth time. The first eighty-nine times, Eliot had answered with the electronic equivalent of a snort of derision (sort of a humming, cooling-fan-picking-up-speed noise). This time, Eliot scooted across the floor and came to rest at Hardison's ankle. Hardison drew back a little, worried about more bruises.

"I won't."

"But what if it doesn't work the way we designed --"

"It will."

"But --"

"Shut up," Eliot said. Hardison pretended he could hear fondness in the modulated, computer voice. It was like when Parker told him to go to hell when she woke up and he was playing with her hair.

"In all likelihood, it will be just fine," Eliot said.

"Really?" Hardison asked. He liked the reassurance.

"There is no way to actually calculate the odds that 'everything will be fine' because there are no actual parameters for 'everything' or 'fine'. What is 'fine'? To what extent are we measuring 'everything'? If the humanoid robot chassis you are building works according to your plan and you are not shot to death by government agents, and a tornado kills seventeen people in Kansas at the same time, is everything still fine?"

"I hate you," Hardison said. He hoped Eliot could hear the fondness in his voice, too.

\--

"How is it?" Hardison asked, his leg bouncing up and down under the table, awash in nervous energy.

"Shut up," Eliot said, the new speech pack already kicking in. "Let me just... settle in."

Parker and Hardison traded hopeful looks while Eliot presumably felt around inside his new body. After standing for what felt like far too long in silence, Hardison nudged the prone body on the floor with his toe.

"Hey, Eliot?"

"Stop it," Eliot said.

Parker turned to Hardison and nudged him in the ribs. "Oh my god, that voice."

"Way better than the electronic beep-y robo thing, right?"

"I was going to say he sounds like an axe murderer," Parker whispered. "All gravelly and serial killer sounding."

"I can hear you," Eliot says from the floor. "I sound fine."

"You think so?" Hardison felt another surge of pride. It's not like the voice was particularly hard to make once he's finally figured out what sound editing program he wanted to use, but it was still nice to have his hard work recognized.

"Yes, now could you just shut up?"

Despite the very new look and sound, Eliot still gave Hardison that slightly throbbing stress headache behind his eyes. Good to know some things would stay the same.

Slowly, the body on the floor began to move. There was flexing in the fingers and arms, then the ankles and knees started to move, and finally -- glacially slow -- Eliot sat up.

Hardison let out an excited whoop and danced around the garage, ignoring the scowl on Eliot's face at the continued noise. In fact, the scowl made him whoop louder. He made that scowl from nothing even when he didn't think he would be able to. And no one had even been arrested.

"I can't believe it actually worked!"

"Thanks?" Eliot said sounding absolutely icy. Hardison was still strutting around the workshop like he'd invented fire. "I'm glad you transferred my entire consciousness into what amounted to a hunch."

"But it worked, right?" Parker asked. Hardison decided to ignore how doubtful she sounded.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Thank you," Eliot said again, this time without so much venom. He still hadn't opened his eyes, and when Hardison came down from his god-complex high, he got worried.

"Wait, is everything okay in there? Can you open your eyes?" He reached for the nearest flat headed screwdriver and kneeled beside Eliot on the floor.

"Yes, it's fine, it's just..."

"A big step," Parker finished as Eliot trailed off. She crouched on the other side of him, and Hardison couldn't help but notice her slipping her hand into Eliot's.

"Oh!"

"What? What's wrong?" Hardison asked, eyes wide. He lifted the screwdriver again, like he could solve whatever Eliot's problem was just pointing it at him and hoping.

"I can feel that," Eliot said to Parker, inclining his head slightly towards her. "Your hand. It's warm."

The 'creator' part of Hardison was thrilled. Not only did Eliot sound thrilled, but he actually _sounded_ thrilled. There was an honest emotion in his voice (which sounded nothing like a bad 1980's electronic robo-voice or a serial killer, despite what Parker said). There was a different, more petty part of him that wanted to pull them apart, both jealous and protective of Eliot at the same time.

"That's a good thing," Hardison said gently, shaking off the jerk feelings. "Now open your eyes. Tell us what you see."

Hardison heard breath catching in someone's throat and was about to comment that that was not a feature he'd implemented, but he realized it was his own breath and his own throat. Eliot reached out his free hand and took one of Hardison's.

"Relax," he said gruffly. "Even if you fucked it up, we can fix it."

Hardison wondered idly what would happen to a robot if he chopped it up and put its severed parts in a large chest freezer, but then Eliot squeezed his hand and blinked his eyes open.

There was silence in the workshop. Eliot stared straight ahead, unblinking. Slowly, so painfully slowly that Hardison was sure he'd go mad before he ever found out if all his hard work had paid off, Eliot turned his head to look and Parker. She beamed at him, then at Hardison, then back to Eliot.

"So?" she asked. "How do I look?"

"Good," Eliot said, and then he kissed her. Or at least, from where Hardison was crouching, it looked like a kiss. Parker was giggling and Eliot's movements were still slow and unsure, but when he pulled away, Parker was breathless and beaming. There was slight traces of pink in her cheeks. She threw herself across Eliot's body and tackled Hardison to the floor in a bear hug.

"You did it," she said, snuggling her face into his shoulder. "It's so awesome."

"I am," Eliot said, mouth curving upward into a smile.

 _I made that smile,_ Hardison thought. He knew he made the smile, because it had taken forty-five minutes to work out the theoretical math behind it and another two hours to actually get the mechanics to do what he wanted them to do. He'd envisioned that smile so many times that he was sure he would hate it by the time he actually saw it in reality.

That was the furthest from the truth. On Eliot, it was the wickedest, wildest smile Hardison had ever seen. It was happy and just a little crooked and sweet and it was making him feel... feelings. Feelings above and beyond 'hey I made this and it's not terrible.'

He kissed Parker's cheek, grinning at her excitement. "Yeah, pretty awesome."

Eliot squeezed Hardison's hand again and carefully tried to get to his feet. "Am I doing this right?"

"Use your knees," Parker said, poking the joint in question. Eliot was shaky on his feet for a few seconds, but as he started to move, it was clear he was getting the hang of it pretty quick. Hardison wasn't shocked, based on how quickly everything had happened with him.

And then there was Eliot, standing in the middle of the workshop on two feet. Two feet that Hardison had made from scratch. Feet were not something Hardison found even remotely attractive, but after putting hours upon hours of work into them, Hardison was not having any trouble finding some beauty.

"He's kind of perfect," he said under his breath. He'd meant it in a general, 'triumph of modern science', and 'damn, am I ever good at what I do' sort of way, but the moment it was out of his mouth, he knew it was about to be taken the wrong way.

Parker beamed. "I like what you did with the arms." Hardison side-eyed her as she stared. "And like, the chest. And kind of the lower part, you know where --"

"Yeah, got it," Hardison said, making a point not to look at the lower parts Parker was referring to. "Glad you like it. Dude, put some clothes on."

Eliot looked down and regarded his nakedness closely, then looked back up gave Hardison a cool look with a tilt of his head. "Must I?"

"No," Parker said quickly, glancing between Hardison and Eliot with only the faintest glimmer in her eyes. "Not unless you're cold."

"I don't think I am."

Hardison sighed. "And you won't get cold, not unless you try to take a nap in a snow bank or something. Just at least put some pants on?"

Eliot agreed, if only because Hardison found one of those old, grimy jumpsuit that every workshop seemed to have lying around and threw it at him.

It took a few minutes for Eliot to wriggle into the clothes. He kept pausing every few seconds to ask for clarification or pointers. At one point, he fell crashing to the floor when he tried to lift both feet off the floor at the same time. Parker burst into laughter and Hardison rushed forward to check and make sure there was no permanent damage to his creation, but Eliot was fine. He bit off a growling 'thank you' when Hardison helped him back to his feet.

"So..." Parker said once Eliot was dressed. "What now? I mean, what else do you guys have to do to make this whole process done?"

Hardison and Eliot traded looks and the Hardison shrugged. "Nothing, really, I think everything's done." He chuckled, then his chuckle turned into an all-out laugh. He didn't think it was a job he'd ever start, let alone finish, and yet here they were. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eliot trying to mimic the shrugging gesture. That was pretty funny too.

"Oh, well that's great!" Parker said brightly. "And what about the guy you were worried would come here and shoot you?"

Hardison was not thrilled at being reminded. "Oh, uh. I don't know. I can give him that," Hardison said, pointing to the ultimate death fighting robot chassis, sitting quiet and still on the floor.

Eliot looked down, seeing the 'bot that had been him for the first time. "Oh, wow, you really aren't very good at building robots, are you?" he said with a smirk. Hardison wondered briefly where he'd even learned to smirk.

"Hey, man, shut up! We won plenty of fights with that thing, and if you recall the last two weeks at all, I think you'll find I did a damn good job of building you."

Eliot's smile changed from snarky to genuine. "I know," he said. "And I'm glad you can admit instead of looking at me and only seeing flaws."

Hardison felt like he'd been trapped into that touching moment, but Parker clapped her hands together delightedly and dragged them both into a group hug. _Gag,_ Hardison thought, but it was kind of a nice hug anyway. Eliot's arm across his back felt solid and real.

"What are your plans now?" Hardison asked once Parker had released them both. "Travel the world? Learn to water-ski? Save a baby bird and learn to be a proper mother?"

Eliot gave him a blank look before very slowly trying a shrug. It went over pretty well, actually. If he kept learning things at this rate, he would be a better human than Hardison was in a couple weeks. "I was under the impression I could stay here."

"Of course you can," Parker said, elbowing Hardison gently in the ribs. "He doesn't have anyone else," she whispered under her breath before Hardison had even said anything. "He is the baby bird right now."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be his mother," Hardison shot back. It occurred to him that he didn't even know why they were bickering, seeing as how he had never told Eliot to leave. Not seriously, anyway. He did recall shouting numerous threats of dismemberment that Eliot ignored or mocked in the last couple weeks, but that was usually because of stress and over tiredness as opposed to actual dislike.

"I can hear you both quite clearly," Eliot said. His tone was even and mild, but there was a touch of uncertainty to his features, just the slightest expression that transformed his words. That wasn't something you could program, Hardison thought. That was real.

"Well, I guess you're staying then," Hardison said. "So we can teach you how to be a person. Let's go in and start your training. First up, how to wash dishes."

\--

Four days later and it was like things had always been this way. Eliot watched with avid interest as Hardison and Parker did almost anything, constantly asking questions about 'how' or 'how come', or the dreaded 'why'.

Eliot seemed particularly interested in anything pertaining to his new body, and by extension, bodies in general. He followed Hardison into the shower on the second morning, and after the twenty minute argument about why that wasn't socially acceptable as a guest in someone's house, Hardison finally gave into the stubborn-beyond-the-scope- of-any-mortal Eliot and let him in the bathroom.

"You sit right there and don't move," Hardison said, pushing Eliot down on the toilet and setting a folded towel in his lap. "We already gave you the basic lessons on hygiene; I don't know why you feel the need to supervise this," he muttered.

Eliot sat quietly and covered his eyes when Hardison told him to. Hardison was expecting an onslaught of questions over the sound of the water, but nothing came. Just a companionable silence from the other side of the curtain.

It was still unsettling, Hardison decided. "Do you really have to be in here?"

"Yes," Eliot said after a moment. "I wanted to talk to you, away from Parker. Just for a minute."

"Oh?" Hardison said. He rinsed soap from his armpits and tried not to sound overly concerned. "What's up, man?"

"I know we talked about this already, and you expressed your vehement distaste, but I've been considering my need for a sexual relationship and would like to talk to you about some definitions I'm unclear about."

Hardison stared at the tiles in front of him and tried to think of something to say to that that didn't start with 'what the actual hell are you talking about,' but nothing immediately came to mind. It struck Hardison as a little funny how much Eliot was sounding like his old fighting robot self -- so much more formal than usual.

"Why are you talking like that? You sound like your old self again," Hardison said, trying to avoid the looming awkward conversation as long as possible.

"I don't think you programmed me to talk properly about sex and shit, Hardison. I understand that it can be a delicate topic," Eliot said. "I wanted to avoid offending you."

"Hey, I programmed you fine. And if you're talking about it all when I didn't program it in there, shouldn't we be marvelling at how you're growing and stuff? You're more than just your binary coding, El."

There was silence from the other side of the curtain. "I don't think you're going to offend me. Weird me out a little, sure, but probably not offend," Hardison went on.

"You know I'm looking for ways to... bring myself closer to my newfound sense of humanity. Or whatever," Eliot went on, switching between sounding more formal and programmed, then more casual. "Based on my research, some of the most human activities are include eating, drinking, engaging in intercourse, and being part of a family or community."

"Yeah, I guess that sounds about right."

"Since I can't do the first two, based strictly on my physiology, and you and Parker sort of count as the last one... I thought my best chances were in the third option."

"So, you want to get your freak on and you want me to... what? Explain how? Take you to a bar and be your wingman? Wait, were you asking me to... you know, _hire_ someone for you?"

"Um, no, I don't think so. I just wanted to broach the subject with you so you are not shocked later when Parker mentions it. I know how much tact she has."

The thought of soliciting a prostitute for the robot he accidentally gave life to was actually sitting better with him than the prospect of chatting to Parker about it did. "Uh? Okay?"

"Okay. Enjoy your shower." There was a shuffle and then Hardison heard the door open and close again.

"Well, that was just weird."

\--

"Hey, so..." Parker slid under the sheets and curled across Hardison's chest like a cat.

"So?"

"Yeah. I told Eliot he could watch us have sex."

That explained the conversation in the bathroom earlier. For a second, Hardison was relieved. He had never purchased services from a lady of negotiable affection before and he'd been mildly worried he would fuck it up, if it came down to it. But then it all clicked in.

"You told him _what_?"

"Well, he looked so earnest when he asked, what was I supposed to say?"

Hardison felt an uneasy feeling spread out through his guts and he chewed his lip. "Uh, I can think of about ninety things you could have said. I can't believe he _asked_ to watch us..."

"Oh, well, he didn't ask that exactly," Parker said, still sounding oblivious to Hardison's anxiety. "He was just telling me about how he's trying to embrace more of his humanity and how he still doesn't feel comfortable in his skin. Or his elastic polymer skin replica or whatever it is."

"And you were like, 'hey, I know what makes everyone feel more comfortable: voyeurism!'? Really, girl?"

Parker chuckled, pressing her lips to Hardison's shoulder soothingly. "It's not a big deal. Remember when you still lived at Nana's and the cats used to watch us on the fold-out couch? It's basically the same, except there's one of him and we're probably not going to have to chase him if he bats at your junk."

"He's not going to bat at my -- Oh, for god's sake." Hardison could feel the heat in his cheeks and was appalled at himself for it. "And it's not the same, because the cats never offered their opinions about our performance afterwards."

"I think Baxter clawing you in the sack was a pretty clear opinion."

Hardison groaned. "Stop talking, my balls are having traumatic flashbacks. I can't believe this is happening."

"I originally told him he could join in, but he thought this would be a better starting point."

"Well, you have... Oh, no, seriously? That was supposed to make me feel better? Why would you tell him we were down for that?"

Parker shrugged, shoulder digging into his ribs awkwardly for a second before she relaxed again. "Because I am. And I know you're going to come around on this just like you do for everything else I suggest in bed. He's cute, Hardison, and he's honest. I like honest."

Hardison didn't say anything. He was trying to imagine -- without imagining in too much detail -- just exactly how a scenario like that would play out. A lot of old suspicions and insecurities came creeping back, and maybe Parker sensed it, because she found his hand in the dark and twined their fingers together.

"It's not the same," she assured him. "What I feel for you isn't the same as anything else. Ever. But Eliot's a sweet guy, even if he's not a real guy, and aren't you even a little curious to find out if the dick you built him can stand up to a little wear and tear?"

"Never 'tear'," Hardison corrected quickly. "There should never be tearing, with any unit like that. And no. I was going off the assumption that if the rest of him works, then that would work fine too."

"How is that very thorough? I thought scientists were all about being thorough. How about we just let him watch and I bet he'll be so disgusted that he'll drop the subject altogether. Maybe explore the parts of humanity with nuns in them or something."

Parker had brought up her theory that sex was the grossest thing that had ever happened in the history of humanity, up to and including any Paris Hilton reality show, just based on the sounds and the faces and 'all the goo involved' (her words, not Hardison's). But Hardison watched Parker when they were together and if the faces she made and the sounds that came out of her had even a fraction of the impact on Eliot's AI program as it did on Hardison's, that robot was going to fall in L-O-V-E.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Hardison asked, knowing he wouldn't get any sleep if he had to think about it much longer.

"Yeah," Parker said, wiggling up to kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Alec."

\--

Parker didn't bring up their delicate topic of conversation over breakfast, which was out of character and a blessing at the same time. She waited until she was supervising (read: not helping) Eliot and Hardison washing and drying the dishes before she spoke up.

"So, I think we should all go upstairs and do that sexy voyeurism thing now," she said, flashing Hardison her bedroom eyes.

He froze partway through handing a wet plate to Eliot.

"The two of you discussed it?" Eliot asked, prying Hardison's fingers gently from the dish and drying it with careful concentration. "If I'm gonna be honest, I wasn't expecting you to be okay with it."

"Honest," Parker echoed, giving Hardison a pointed look.

"Okay," Hardison said, snapping out of his statue impression and pointing at Eliot. "You have to promise not to comment or criticize. And not to hit me in the balls."

Eliot gave him the 'you must be crazy' look that he had very quickly perfected. "Wait, not even constructive criticism?"

The concept of constructive criticism was something Eliot had learned early on in the building stages, and often used it as a defence when he was being mean and Hardison told him to knock it off.

"You can't call me a moron and tell me it's constructive criticism," Hardison said sharply. Then he cut off any additional arguments by pulling Eliot across the kitchen by his wrist and pushing him towards the stairs. "We'll be right up."

Once Eliot was gone, Hardison pulled Parker in close and kissed her deeply. "I still think this is a weird fucking idea," he said softly.

"No, the time with the canoe paddle was a weird fucking idea. I don't think either of us has to worry about breaking the light fixture this time."

"I didn't mean a weird idea involving fucking, I just meant... Never mind."

They got up the stairs and into the bedroom without further incident or comment, mostly because they were barely leaving room to breathe between them, let alone discuss the situation.

It wasn't that Hardison was uptight or anything; he was down for some of the wilder ideas Parker had for their sex life (see: the canoe paddle incident). His apprehension was more about his own feelings towards Eliot and how damn unsure he was about everything. How was Eliot going to react? How was he going to react to how Eliot was reacting? Why was Eliot so gung ho to be involved?

Parker pushed him onto the bed, taking charge like she liked to, and Hardison saw Eliot from the corner of his eye, just sitting passively in the arm chair by the window. He barely looked awake, let alone interested.

Within moments of shedding their clothes, it became apparent to Hardison that knowing someone was watching them did two things. One, it made him very edgy. He was hyper aware of his own heartbeat, and how much skin he was showing off and where. Two, it got Parker very, very hot. That, at least, was helping Hardison relax a little, letting him focus on getting her to make that little gasping noise more often and a bit louder. Even if Eliot wasn't appreciating it, Hardison sure was.

Checking a clock was not remotely on his to-do list, so Hardison didn't know how much time they'd actually spent on foreplay before Parker squeezed his cock gently and guided it inside. It didn't feel like a lot of time, but she was ready and he was always ready when she was.

Parker laughed, straddling his hips and rocking back gently, making him groan. The chuckle wasn't out of character, was actually something Hardison had been expecting, but apparently Eliot wasn't because Hardison saw him lean forward in his chair suddenly.

There was a moment when it seemed inevitable that Eliot was going to say something snarky and Hardison would have to try and throw him out the window and end up straining something, because Eliot was a solidly built dude, but instead Eliot shut his mouth with a snap. His eyes were wider though, like he was shocked by what he was seeing.

He had the whole internet in his head, Hardison thought briefly, sliding his hands around Parker's hips and lifting her, clearly he'd seen this and much worse before.

Parker let out another excited laugh when Hardison hit a sweet spot inside her and Eliot actually made a noise right along with her. Hardison's head came off the bed slightly and he got a good look at Eliot.

Eliot was on the edge of his seat, mouth open just slightly and his hands gripping his knees tight enough that Hardison could see the cables that made up his 'muscles' straining under his elastic polymer skin.

"What's wrong?" Hardison asked, clutching one of Parker's knees and struggling up into a sitting position. He shifted her backward and down until he was sitting and she was straddling his lap, with his dick still buried right to the hilt inside her.

Her nails scratched across his shoulders, digging little trails that would sting once he really noticed them. But he was too busy being concerned that there was some great malfunction with his robot to notice right away.

"Hardware or software problem?" he asked Eliot, pressing a sloppy, distracted kiss to the side of Parker's mouth to quiet her protest.

Eliot blinked quickly a few times, staring past Hardison. "Dude?" Hardison said again. If it was an internal cooling problem, it would explain why Eliot wasn't able to respond and also meant Eliot might be about the burst into flame.

"No problem," he said finally. "I just... For every action, there is an equal reaction. I didn't think the reaction would be in me."

Parker laughed, not her sexy giggle, but a full out laugh. "Why wouldn't it? We're both very pretty people and we do such pretty things."

"Yes," Eliot agreed instantly. "I'm sorry, I won't interrupt again. You can continue. Please."

Hardison still felt like he was missing a piece to the puzzle, but Parker rolled her hips against him and breathed hot into his ear. "Yes, _please continue._ "

He did, with great enthusiasm, and he was out of breath in the very best way a few minutes later. Parker was making that little gasping sound he loved so much at quicker intervals and he'd all but forgotten they were being watched.

Hardison kept his attention on Parker's face, inches from his, eyes dark and lips parted. Everything about her made his heart hitch, every little noise and every little look she gave him, was just another instance of him falling for her all over again.

"God, I love you," he whispered, kissing her cheek and ear and smiling goofily against her skin.

That dragged a low moan from her before she came, biting down on his shoulder.

Hardison worked his hand between them and grazed his thumb over her clit. She made a high pitched noise against his skin and tightened around him. It was only another moment or two before a shuddering Hardison came too.

It was a long stretch of time while they untangled slowly, with only the occasional whimper or sigh to break the quiet. Once they were resting comfortably in the bed and Parker had tugged the sheet up around their waists, Eliot crept forward from his place on the chair.

He sat on the edge of the bed and kept his eyes carefully on the carpet between his feet.

Hardison watched with a hint of amusement, waiting for Eliot to say something. Parker was nuzzling her forehead against Hardison's chest, a familiar preliminary to her passing out and snoring heavily for the next nine hours.

"Thank you for letting me watch," Eliot said a few moments later. He got up and headed for the door. "I learned... a lot. Good night."

Hardison echoed good night and tried to ignore the distinctly flushed feeling in his face. He had the sinking feeling that having Eliot there had done a lot more than just get Parker excited. He fell asleep with a head full of thoughts.

\--

Hardison woke up with Parker jostling him. "Hey," he groaned. "Careful there." She was practically climbing on him.

He cracked one eye enough to see Eliot sliding under the sheet on the other side of the bed.

"Uhh?" Hardison said. He made to sit up, but Parker curled an arm around his neck and started kissing from his jaw line towards his mouth.

"And this is going to be a thing?" he managed to ask between Parker's sloppy kisses.

"Yes," she said easily. "He's warm."  
   
"I did some research last night after you both fell asleep. I don't want to say I can improve the experience, but... I can probably improve the experience. For everyone." Eliot sounded smug. Oh, how Hardison hated that he had programmed him to understand 'smug'.

"So, obviously you _do_ want to say it," Hardison said, sighing.

There was a flurry of movement and Parker slid off of him. A sharp intake of breath and then Parker made a noise that went straight to Hardison's cock.

"What?" he asked, scrambling around on the bed and trying to figure out what was going on under the sheets.

"Try not to worry," Eliot said. He pulled the covers off the bed and kicked them to the floor. "I have this under control."

That was actually what Hardison was afraid of, but once Eliot actually got the ball rolling, Hardison realized it wasn't going to be nearly the horrifying, life-ruining thing he thought it would be. Hardison had played out this trauma in his mind over and over, never once considering he would be included.

Now, that was something he could work with.

\--

Much later, when breakfast was no longer an option and the sun was high over the house, they emerged from the bedroom and stumbled to the shower. Hardison had to admit Eliot had had a few revolutionary ideas.

He knew he had a goofy, blissed out smile on his face that he couldn't hide, but he was choosing to embrace it rather than feel embarrassed. Besides, it matched Parker and Eliot's dumb smiles.

"So... I can stay, right?"

"Yeah, El, you can stay." Parker glanced at Hardison for confirmation only after she said it, and while it was annoying on principle, Hardison didn't have any real strong objections.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Does that mean we're going to go on that hiking trip in the Great Smokey Mountains?"

Parker perked up instantly. "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that!"

Hardison all but ran for the bathroom, cranking the water in the tub to drown out the sounds of their delighted planning. And if they asked him to join them, he might consider drowning himself as well.

He expected them to join him after a moment, but when they didn't, he worried that they were actually packing bags and heading for the mountains right then. "Guys?" he called, shutting off the water.

There were voices coming up from downstairs that caught Hardison's attention. Angry, half-raised voices.

"Guys? What's up?" He wrapped a towel around himself and slipped out of the bathroom to peer down the stairs. "Guys?"

Then it was Eliot's half-raised, angry voice. That was weird. He'd heard Eliot get sarcastic and vaguely annoyed, but never anything remotely resembling shouting.

"Hey!" Hardison called out, taking the stairs two at a time. "I said what the hell is going on down here?"

There were people at the door. Three or four men, all crowding in the doorway, and Eliot and Parker blocking their entrance into the house, barely wrapped in a bed sheet that kept slipping off Parker's shoulders.

"Ah, Mister Hardison, I presume," said the man closest to the front. "We spoke on the phone."

Hardison would have pegged that slightly excited voice without the hint. "Hi," he said, trying not to sound surprised. He really had hoped they were off the hook with this Bill guy, but apparently not. Now he was going to be shot to death on his own front porch in nothing but a towel. Nana was going to die of shame.

"We're here for the robot," Bill said easily, as if it wasn't obvious that the guys accompanying him weren't armed and terrifying.

"No," Parker said, curling towards Eliot protectively. "You can't." Eliot put a steady hand on her bare shoulder and rearranged the sheet neatly.

"Parker, I think --"

"Fine," Hardison said, cutting off whatever Eliot was thinking. "We just don't want any trouble." He had a plan and while he didn't think it was going to work, he figured it would buy him time to come up with a better plan.

"Hardison!" Parker said, turning around so fast that she ended up flashing the guys in the doorway her naked ass. "You said that --"

"I know what I said," he said quickly. "But I'm not in the mood to argue with guys with guns."

"I think that's very wise, Mister Hardison," Bill said. "And sooner, rather than later, would be preferred."

"Okay, okay, don't rush me," Hardison said, trying to sound put upon rather than fucking terrified. "It's in the garage out back. I told you it was freaking me out."

Parker's sigh of relief was loud enough and obvious enough that Hardison was sure they were all totally screwed, but apparently there's something about a completely naked woman that distracts thugs with guns.

Hardison wasn't sure what would alarm any watching neighbours more about the walk out to the workshop; was it the three barely-covered people in towels and sheet, or the small gang of men with guns walking right behind them? No matter, Hardison thought, because there was about to be a murder or two and no one would remember the partial nudity.

His mind was pitifully blank. He had no bonus ideas, no hidden ace up his sleeve. He didn't even have sleeves.

"There," he said, pushing open the door. "Have at it." He pointed to the old fighting robot chassis, quiet and lonesome on the floor.

One of the thugs had apparently cross-classed in geek, because he shoved Hardison out of the way to get to the robot and plugged in a very fancy looking tablet. Hardison tried not to drool because he didn't want a lecture later on appropriate behaviour in front of guests and governments goons.

"He was telling the truth, Bill," he said after a few moments. "No signs of life here. The AI program is something that looks like it was written by a teenage girl for her Angelfire page."

Hardison nearly smacked the guy for the insinuation, but Eliot took him by the hand and it calmed him down.

"Thank you, I'm glad you didn't make this process any more difficult than it needed to be," Bill said once the other guys had packed up the robot and left with it. "We'll be in touch if there are any... problems."

They followed Bill back through the house and Parker peered out through a crack in the front curtains to watch them go. Hardison stood back, leaning on the door to the kitchen. He didn't realize he was shaking until Eliot slipped his arms around him and pulled him tight.

"That was some pretty quick thinking," Eliot said. Hardison thought he could almost detect a note of admiration.

"Thanks," he said. He let his head fall against Eliot's shoulder and just stood there while the adrenaline wore off.

Eliot ruined the peaceful moment by continuing. "It was very out of character."

"...Thanks, asshole."

"I am what you made me," Eliot said with more programmed cheerfulness than Hardison could bear without gritting his teeth.

It had all started with a late night, a two litre bottle of orange soda, and some scrap metal, and Hardison thought maybe he'd have a few entertaining nights while Parker was away. He built a robot to fight, and gave it artificial intelligence to win, but he never anticipated this. Whatever _this_ was. They needed to have a long talk.

But first, it was lunch time.


End file.
